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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


c^(!> 


PARADOXES    AND    PUZZLES 


PARADOXES    AND    PUZZLES 


HISTORICAL.  JUDICIAL,  AND  LITERARY 


BY 

JOHN     PAGET 

1;/ 
BAIUUSTEK-AT-LA\V 


"  IIIDINU  .STUAIGHT  I'l'  10  TUB  CENTRAL  PAVILION,  HE  STUl'CK  WITH  THE 
SHARP  END  OF  HIS  Sl'EAR  THE  SHIELD  OF  BRIAN  DE  BOIS-OUIIRERT."  .  .  . 
"all   STOOD   ASTONISHED   AT   HIS   PRESUMPTION." — '  Ivanhoc' 

"a  paradox  is  SOMETHING  WHICH  IS  APART  FROM  GENERAL  OPINION, 
EITHER   IN.Sl'BJECT-MArrER,    METHOD,   OR  CONCLUSION." 

;  — De  Morgan,  '  Biidijet  of  PewdoxeA,'  \>.  2. 


WILLIAM    BLACKWOOD    AND    SONS 

EDINBURGH     AND     LONDON 

MDCCCLXXIV 


r 


CONTENTS. 


THE  NEW  "EXAIMEN:" 

AN    INQUIRY    INTO    TUE   EVIDENCE    RELATING   TO    CERTAIN 
PASSAGES    IN    LORD   MACAULAY's   HISTORY. 


I.— LORD  MACAULAY  AND  THE  DUKE  OF*MARLBOROUGn. 


Charm  of  Lord  Macaulay's  writings, 

Tlieir  defects,  .... 

James  II.  and  Arabella  Churchill, 

William  III.  and  Elizabeth  Villiers, 

Lord  Macauliiy's  jiartiality,     . 

His  Whiggisni  and  caprice,     . 

The  youth  of  Marlborough,     . 

His  education,  .... 

The  Duchess  of  Cleveland, 

'  The  New  Atalantis,' 

Sarah  Jennings,        .... 

The  Duke  of  Somerset,    . 

Lord  Macaulay's  slanders  of  the  Duchess 

of  Marlborougli,    .... 
Charges  .against  Marlborough, 
Charge  of  aviiricc,    .... 


PAGE 
3 


Cliarge  of  obtaining  money  under  false 
liretcnccs, 

'  The  Dear  I3argain,'         ,        ,    _    . 

The  Jacobite  iiamiihleteers,     .     '    . 

Charge  of  murder,   .... 

Camaret  Bay,  .... 

Floyd, 

The  Stuart  papers, 

Russell,  Shrewsbury,  Gwlolphin, 

Inttlligonco  cDuveyed  to  Louis, 

William's  Utter  to  Shrewsbury, 

Burcliett  -Lord  Cacnnarthen, 

Derail  of  Talmash, 

Lord  Macaulay's  groundless  and  UU' 
scnipulous  charges,      ... 

His  suppression  and  falsification  of  evi 
dcnce, 29 


II.— LORD  MACAULAY  AND  THE  MASSACRE  OP  GLENCOE. 


The  Glencoe  men,    .... 

Their  character,       .... 

Peaceable  st^ile  of  the  Highlands,  . 

Truce  of  Achallader, 

Treaty  of  Limerick, 

The  Earl  of  Breadalbane, 

Meeting  at  .\cliallader,     . 

M'Domild  (if  Glencoe, 

The  valley  iif  (ileneoe,     . 

Lord  Maciiulay's  description, 

Inaccurate  and  exaggerated,   . 

Real  state  of  the  glen. 

Described  by  the  biographer  of  Lochicl, 

By  Mrs  Grant  of  Lagg.an, 

The  Master  of  Stair, 

Unjustly  treat<Ml  by  Lord  Macaulay, 

His  letters  to  the  Earl  of  Breadalbane, 

M'lan  at  Inverlochy, 

M'lan  takes  the  oath, 

Returns  to  Glencoe, 

William  III.,  . 

Tlie  "  Extiri>ation  "  order, 

Signed  by  William, 

Buniet  excuses, 

Lord  Macaulay  justifies. 

Lord  Macaulay's  sophisms,     . 


33  Preparations  for  tlie  Massacre, 

34  Letters  of  Stair  to  Livingstone, 

34  Colonel  Hill 

35  Hamilton,         .... 

35  Glenlyon,  .        .        ,        , 

36  The  Massacre, 

37  Murder  of  M'lan  and  his  wife, 

37  Of  Auchintriaten,    . 

38  Escape  of  Auchintriatcn's  brother, 

39  Murder  of  the  children,  women,  and  old 

39  '"^'n 

40  Ronald  M 'Donald's  father  burnt,   . 

40  The  glen  jdundered  by  the  soldiers, 

41  Re]iiirt  in  the  '  Paris  Gazette,' 
43  The  Jacobite  version, 

46  Charles  Leslie,  .... 

47  '  (iallienus  Hedivivus,'    . 

51  Unfairly  quoted  by  Lord  Macaulay, 

52  Report  of  the  Commission, 
52  Lonl  Macaulay's  misrepresentations, 
54  William   III.  resiionsible  for  the  mas 

54  sacre,    

55  lie  jianlons  .Stair,  . 
55  And  rewanls  him,  . 
55  Tlie  other  actors,  . 
56 


57 
S8 
59 
60 
60 
60 
63 
65 
64 

65 
65 
66 
68 
68 
68 
69 
70 
70 
7" 

72 
73 
74 
76 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


Ill  —Tin:    IIIOIll.ANDS   OF   SCOTLAND. 


I.i.nl  Mncniiliiy'H  |n■<li^,'r^•l•, 

1 1  Ih  liiitrnl  I  if  II  IkIiIiiiiiIi'I-h  ami  i<rQiiitkurH, 

IliH  (IrHiTlplloii  (iftlio  IIIkIiIiukU, 

OlJvci'CioMNiiiitli,    . 

Ulclinnl  Frniick, 

Coloiu'l  Clcliiiiil, 

TIU!  Ill){lllllll(l  IIOHt, 

ljurt's  Luttcre, 


IV.— LORD    M 


Miscnncoptlon  an  to  Dunduc, 

Hir  Walter  Scott,      . 

'  Old  Mort.ility,'       . 

Lonl  Macaulay'a  History 

His  cl<H|iiciico, 

Mis  jiower, 

His  viust  knowledge. 

His  iigustice. 

His  jiortniit  of  Claverhouse, 

The  "Chief of Tophet," 

His  iiiisre|irpsentjitions, 

Mar^aivtM'Lachlan  and  Margaret  Wilson, 

Andrew  Hi.sUii) 

John  l}rt)wn,  "  The  Christian  Carrier," 


Lord  Mucaulay's  account 
Wodrow's  account,  . 
Professor  Aytoun,   . 
Patrick  Walker's  accoun 
Sir  Walter  Scott, 
William  Crookshank, 


of  his  death, 


v.— LORD    M 


\CAULAY   AND   WILLLVM    PENN. 


Charges  against  Penn, 
Tlie  Maids  of  Taunton, 
Robert  Brent  and  George 
The  Duke  of  Somerset, 
Sir  Francis  Warre,  . 
"  Mr  Penne,"  . 
Oldmixon,  Ralph,  &c. , 
Sir  James  Mackintosh, 
Cornish  an<l  Gaunt, 
Cliarge  of  inhumanity. 
Declaration  of  Indulgence, 
Conduct  of  Dissenters, 
Bunyan — Kiffln, 
Burnet, 

Attainiicr  of  Penwick, 
"  Kinphatic  honesty," 
Magdalen  College,    . 
Anthony  Fanner,     . 
Hough,     . 
Parker,     . 
Penn  at  Oxford, 
Lonl  Macaulay's  cliarge. 
The  anonymous  letter. 
Interview  at  Windsor, 


77  Safety  of  travelling, 

78  Highland  fare, 

79  Lowland  delicacies, 

80  Tlic'  Knglisli  fox-liuntcr, 
83  The  llighlaml  laird, 

88  Slanders  and  Mattery, 

8g  Mrs  Manley  ami  Ajiiira  Bchn, 

91  The  Scotch  an<l  the  Welsh, 


\CAULAY   AND   DUNDEE. 


lOI 
lOI 

103 

103 
103 
103 
103 
103 
103 
103 

JOS 
107 
107 
108 
109 
109 
III 
III 
III 

112 


Walker's  narrative, 

Lord  Macaulay's  mis<|uotAtlon.s, 

Murder  of  Arclihishop  Sharpe, 

Hackston  of  lUthillet,    . 

Roherl  Hamilton,    . 

Murder  of  the  jirisoner  at  Drwmclog 

"  Jesu.s,  and  no  quarter," 

Murder  of  Peter  Peirson, 

Real  history  of  John  Brown,  . 

The  Queensberry  Papers, 

Dundee's  despatch, 

Abjunition  Oath, 

The  character  of  Claverhouse, 

His  strict  discipline. 

His  justice 

His  humanity. 

His  piety 

His  private  life. 

His  genius 

His  death,        .... 


(no 


135 
136 
137 
138 
139 
140 
141 
143 
147 
147 
148 
150 
151 
153 

15s 
156 
156 
158 

159 
161 
163 
164 
166 


93 
94 
95 
97 
97 
99 
99 
too 


"4 
"7 
118 

I30 
131 
131 
131 
133 
«23 
134 
135 
137 
139 
139 
139 
130 
131 
132 
133 

«33 


Hough's  letter, 167 

Sununary  of  the  charges,  .        •     '73 

Penn  In  1688, 173 

Letter  to  Shrewsbury,     .        .        .        .173 

Avaux, 17s 

Nevill  Penn (nofe)i77 

Gerard  Croese, 178 

Imaginai-y  inteniew  between  Penn  and 

the  king, 179 

Preston's  plot, 181 

Funeral  of  Fox, 183 

Henry  Sidney, 183 

Luttrell's  Diary 187 

Penn's  retirement 189 

Death  of  his  wife, 190 

Captain  Williamson,        ....     191 

WiUiam  Fuller, 192 

Dangerfield (note)  193 

Robert  Francis (note)  193 

Character  of  Penn, 196 

Appendix, 197 

Postscript, 309 


VINDICATIONS. 

I. -NELSON   AND   CARACCIOLO. 


Mr  Ruskin's  charges. 

•     213 

Rose's  Diaries,  &c.. 

•     213 

"  Perlldy  and  murder,"   . 

•     214 

Tlie  Riy  of  Naples, 

■     214 

Cai>itvilation  of  the  castles,      . 

215 

Canlinal  RufTo, 

215 

Captain  Foote, 

215 

The  laws  of  war. 

Charges  brought  by  Fox  again: 

Nelson's  justification, 

Miss  Williams, 

Death  of  Caracciolo, 

His  character, 

Conduot  of  Nelson, 


216 

ttheNa\-y,  218 

.     218 

320,  223 
331 
335 
336 


CONTENTS. 


VU 


II.— LADY   UAMILTON. 


Her  birth , 229 

Early  life 229 

Caiitiiin  Payne, 230 

Sir  Harry  Featherstonchaugh,        .        .  230 

Slanderous  Jiienioirs 230 

Honourable  C.  Greville 231 

The  quack  Graham,         ....  231 

Her  introduction  to  Roinney,         .        .  232 

Roniney's  i>orti'aits,         ....  233 

Gilray 234 

Marriage  to  Sir  W.  Hamilton,         .        .  235 

Kesidcnce  at  Naples,       .        .        .        .  236 

The  battle  of  the  Nile,     ....  237 

Escape  of  the  King  and  Queen  of  Naples,  238 

Execution  of  Caracciolo,  .        .        .  240 

Slanders  on  Nelson  and  Lady  Hamilton 
by  Southey,  Lord  Hrougham,  Captaiu 

Brenton,  and  Lord  Holland,        .     240,  241 


Vindication  by  John  Mitford,  Sir  Fran- 
cis Collier,  Lord  Northwick,  and  the 
Queen  of  Naples,  .        .        .        .241 

Horatia, 243 

Death  of  NeLson, 243 

His  will, 244 

He  leaves  Lady  Hamilton  and  Horatia 

as  a  "legacy  to  his  country,"      .        .  245 

Nelson's  brother, 245 

His  baseness, 246 

Ingratitude  of  England 247 

Cliaracter  of  Lady  Hamilton,          .        .  248 

Her  poverty 248 

Her  imprisonment,          ....  248 

Her  rescue  by  Alderman  Smith,     .        .  248 

Her  flight  to  Calais 248 

Her  death  and  funeral,    .        .        .     250,  251 


III.— THE   WIGTOWN   MARTYRS. 


Mr  Mark  Napier  and  Principal  Tulloch,     253 

Lord  Macaulay, 253 

The  trial  and  reprieve 256 


Sir  George  Mackenzie,     . 
Kirk-session  of  Peuniughame, 


258 
262 


IV.— RECOLLECTIONS    OF   LORD   BYRON. 


The  Countess  Guiccioli, 
Lord  Byron's  marriage. 


265 
267 


Birth  of  "  Ada," 270 

The  "  Dear  Duck  "  letter,        .        .         .  270 

Lady  Byron  leaves  her  home,          .        .  271 
Fanatical  attack  on  Lord  Byron,    .        .27' 

Shelley, 272 

Lord  Macaulay, 272 

Lady  Byron's  silence,      ....  273 


Lord  BjTon's  mistaken  generosity. 

Death  of  Lord  Byron, 

Lady  Byron's  "  Remarks," 

Thomas  Campbell,  . 

Dr  Lushington's  letter,    . 

Lady  Byron,     . 

The  moral  "  Brinvilliers," 

Destruction  of  Lord  BjTon's  Memoirs, 


273 
275 
27s 
27s 
278 
279 
280 
281 


v.— LORD   BYRON   AND   HIS  CALUMNIATORS. 


Mi-s  Beeeher  Stowe,         ....  283 

Her  story, 284,  285 

Wickedness  and  falsehood  of  her  calum- 
nies,     .......  288 

Mrs  Leigli— her  character,      .        .        .  290 

Mr  Delni6  RadclifTe,         ....  291 

Lady  Byron's  letters,       ....  293 

La<ly  Anne  Barnard,        ....  296 

Dr  Lushiiigton 297 


His  silence 299 

Lord  Broughton,     ....       301-307 
Exclusion  of  Byron's  statue  from  West- 
minster Abbey, 307 

Dr  Ireland, 307 

Character    of    Lord    BjTon    by    Lord 

Broughton, 307 

Do.  by  the  Rev.  Wm.  Harness,      ,        .311 


JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 


I.-ELIZABETH   CANNING. 


Her  story 317-325 

Henry  Fielding, 325 

Sir  Crispc  Gascoync 329 


Conviction  of  Squires  and  Wells, 
Conviction  of  Canning,   . 


329 
335 


II.— THE  CAMPDEN   WONDER. 


Cliipping-Cam\nlcn,         ....  337 

Justice  Shallow  and  "  Will  Squele,"       .  338 

Disaiipearancc  of  Harrison      .        .        .  338 

Omfession  of  John  Perrj',       .        .        .  340 
Trial  anil  execution  of  Joan,  Riclianl, 

and  John  Perrj' 341 

Return  of  Harrison 342 

His  narrative, 342 

Coufessions, 346 


Mania  for  self-accusation, 
Cowper  the  iioet, 
Case  at  Calais, 
Confession  of  the  witi'hcs, 
Isabcll  Gowdie,  Janet  Bieadlicid, 

Modern  ca.scs 

Samuel  Wall,   .... 
Mutiny  on  the  "  Hcmiione," 


3t7 
347 
348 
348 
35  > 
353 
353 
3S6 


VIII 


CONTENTS. 


HI.— Til H    ANNKHLEY    CA8K. 


MiirrlnKc  nf  I,onI  AHhnin,       .        .  .  3^ 

Al'lM'JiriiiirtMir  llic  claiiuaiil,    .         .  .  3^kj 

llin  tri/il  for  iiimilcr,  mill  acnuittrtl,  .  360 

Iliid  l<ii<Iy  Altliiim  i^vi/r  liml  a  child?  .  361 

The  household  at  Duiimaliie,  .  .  362 


Contnulictory  cviiletiPf ,  .         .  362,  3'i7 

Kvidi!n>'(!  of  I'alliitvr,  Joan  I^Ruti,  and 

Mar}'  Ilf'atli, 367 

Kldiia|ii>lii){  (jf  Richard  Aiincblcy,  .        .     369 
Conlrailictory  verdicts 370 


IV.— ELIZA  PENNING. 

Her  runoral,              373  Hatch'H  ciusc, 383 

Ilcrtrial, 374-378  I'luiniiicr'H  Raso 383 

UuiHoiui  for  bcHcviriR  hor  Kiiilty,          379,  380  Case  of  B(|uire8 384 

Kulo  of  law  which  jirohiliits  an  accused  Canning's  cAse 384 

person   from  giving  evidence  in  hia  Suggested  alteration  of  the  rule,    .        .  384 

own  liehalf, 382  Fmiwick's  case 384 

Inconsistency  of  the  rule,       .        .        .     382  Tlic  Road  murder, 385 

Evils  of  the  rule, 3S3 


Sarah  Stout, 

Character  of  Spencer  Cowpcr, 

Ilis  trial,  

Walker's  e\idenco,  .... 
Ciiwper's  defence,    .... 
FiiidinK  of  the  Inxly  of  Sarah  Stout, 
Loril  Macaulay's  account  of  the  trial, 
liis  hatred  of  Quakers  and  Tories, . 


v.— SPENCER   COWPER'S    CASE. 

387 


His  misrepresentation  of  facts  and  dis- 

388  tortion  of  evidence,      .         .         .       397-401 

389  Tlie  Quakers, 404 

390  Their  eccentricities 404 

391  William  Tallack, 405 

394  Lorfl  Macaulay's  unscrupulous  treatment 

397  of  facts  a  dangerous  weapon,                .  407 

397  Might  be  easily  turned  against  himself,  408 


ESSAYS  ON  AET. 

I.— THE  ELEMENTS  OF  DRAWING. 

Mr  Ruskin, 413  Christ),  —  3.    Modem     (denying 

His  teachings, 414                 Christ), 427 

His  notions  as  to  perspective,        .        .    414  Raphael — Tlie   Vatican — The   "  Sainte 

As  to  optics, 418  Chapelle  "—The  TuUeries — The  Goil- 

His  practice  as  to  both,  .       .        .      417-420  lotine,  ...         ....  428 

As  to  light  and  shade,     ....     421  Leonidas — St  Louis — Nelson,          .       429-431 

As  to  shadow  in  water 421  Mr  Ru.skin's  want  of  reverence,      .        .  432 

Etty 426      His  intolerance, 432 

Mr  Ruskin's  notions  on  History,  Reli-  Impotence  of  his  blame,          .        .        .  433 

gion,  and  Political  Economy,       .        .     427  Mischief  of  his  praise,     ....  433 

Mr  Ruskin's  three  great  periods,    .        .    427  Mr  Wallis — Mr  I3rett — Mr  Windus,         .  434 

I.  Classical,— 2.  Medieval  (confessing              Mr  Noel  Paton, 434 

Mr  Ruskin's  style, 435 


II.— A   D.VY   AT  ANTTS'ERP: 

Qucntin  Matsys, 438 

Rubens, 439 

Mr  Millais — Mr  Holman  Hunt,       .        .  440 

y  Tlie  Adoratiim  of  the  Magi,     .        .         .  440 

^  The  Cnicilixion 442 

St  Teresa 442 

Mr  Ruskin  on  the  Refonnation,      .        .  443 
"It's  a  wise  child  that  knows  its  own 

father," 443 

Mr  Ruskindeniesthetruth  of  the  proverb,  444 


RUBENS  AND  RUSKIN. 

Purity  of  "  scarlet,"         ....  445 

Tlie  "  Scarlet  Lady,"       ....  445 
"Love:"  its  various  kinds  entunerated 

by  Mr  Ruskin 445 

Conjugal  love  omitted,    ....  446 
Mr  Ruskin's  contempt  for  that  affection, 
as  manifested  by  Rembrandt  and  Ru- 
bens,       447 

Charles  Felo, 44S 


III.-GEORGE   CRUIKSHANK. 


/ 


/ 


Gil  ray  and  Cniikshank,   . 
Peculiar  excellences  of  each, 
Oliver  Twist,    . 
••  The  Bottle," 


430  Fairy  Tales, 

453  Rookwond — Jack  Sheppard,  ,         .         . 

454  Guy  Fawkcs- Tlic  Tower  of  London, 
456  Debt  of  Gratitude  to  George  Cniik9h.ink, 


IV.— JOHN   LEECH. 


Leech  at  the  Cliartcr-houso,    .        .        .     465 
His  characteristics,  ....     467 

His  sporting  and  domestic  sketches,  469 


Tlie  mail-coaches, 
His  death. 


458 

459 
460 
461 


470 
472 


THE  NEW   ^'EXAMEN." 


TUE  EIGHT  HON.  SIR  JOHN  M'NEILL,  G.C.B. 


My  dear  Sir  John, — 

Dedications  are  out  of  fashion,  but  I  feel  that 
the  publication  of  the  following  pages  requires  a  few 
words  of  explanation,  and  I  prefer  addressing  them  to 
you,  to  adoj^tiug  the  more  ordinary  form  of  a  preface. 

For  this  I  have  two  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  I 
am  desirous  to  connect  an  attempt,  however  humble, 
to  vindicate  the  fair  fame  of  departed  greatness  with 
the  name  of  one  to  whose  undaunted  love  of  truth  Eng- 
land owed  so  much  in  a  recent  crisis  of  her  fortunes. 
The  second  reason  is  more  personal  to  myself.  It  was 
impossible  for  me  to  recur  so  frequently  as  I  have  done 
in  the  following  pages  to  the  Highlands,  without  a 
constant  remembrance  of  the  honour  which  you,  like 
so  many  others,  have  conferred  upon  the  land  of  your 
ancestors,  of  your  birth,  and  of  your  strongest  and  most 


X  THK    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

jihidini^  alFectioiis  ;  nor  could  I  forget  tliat  it  is  to  your 
kindiics-s  and  to  your  friendship  that  I  owe  my  famil- 
iarity with  a  country,  where,  in  your  society,  I  have 
passed  many  of  the  most  agreeable  days  of  my  life, 
and  garnered  uj)  recollections  which  are  a  source  of 
constant  enjoyment. 

The  following  Essays  were,  as  you  know,  with  the 
exception  of  one  (that  on  Viscount  Dundee),  published 
during  the  lifetime  of  the  eminent  historian  to  whose 
writings  they  refer.  The  sudden  and  melancholy 
event  which  threw  a  gloom  over  society — which  closed 
for  ever  one  of  the  brightest  sources  of  intellectual 
enjoyment,  and  left  the  highest  place  in  the  world 
of  letters  vacant  without  a  successor — has,  however, 
as  it  appears  to  me,  made  no  difference  in  the  duty  of 
one  who  seeks  merely  to  advocate  the  cause  of  truth. 
It  was  not  without  great  hesitation,  nor  until  after  a 
most  careful  examination  of  the  evidence,  that  I  ven- 
tured at  last  to  express  my  conviction  of  the  errors 
into  which  Lord  Macaulay's  '  History '  was  likely  to 
lead  those  who  placed  an  implicit  reliance  upon  his 
representations.  Of  this  number  I  frankly  confess 
myself  originally  to  have  been  one.  Sharing  in  his 
opinions,  sympathising  in  his  feelings,  and  sincerely 
attached  to  that  party  in  politics  of  which  he  was  so 
brilliant  an  ornament,  I  permitted  myself  to  be  carried 
away  by  the  eloquent  torrent  of  his  declamation  ;  and 
it  was  not  without  many  a  struggle  that  I  found  myself 
compelled,  by  a  dry  examination  #f  facts,  to  surrender 


DEDICATION.  XI 

the  illusion  by  which  I  had  been  enthralled.  The 
following  pages  are  the  result  of  this  examination.  I 
have  confined  myself  to  five  instances.  Three  relate 
to  men  who  played  prominent  and  important  parts, 
and  who  have  left  their  impress  distinctly  marked  on 
history.  One  relates  to  an  event  which  throws  much 
light  upon  the  character  of  William, — which  excited 
strongly  the  sympathies  and  passions  of  the  day,  with 
regard  to  which  the  evidence  is  remarkably  full,  and 
the  duty  of  the  historian  to  hold  the  balance  with  a 
steady  hand,  and  to  award  his  judgment  with  strict 
impartiality,  is  peculiarly  imperative.  The  remaining 
one  refers  to  a  country,  a  people,  and  a  condition  of 
society  which  might  naturally  have  been  supposed  to 
possess  a  singular  interest  for  Lord  Macaulay.  I  have 
done  little  more  than  examine,  carefully  and  honestly, 
the  various  authorities.  The  issues  are  of  a  kind  upon 
which  every  man  of  ordinary  capacity,  when  he  has 
the  evidence  before  him,  is  competent  to  form  a  judg- 
ment. How  far  the  result  may  be  such  as  to  induce 
an  exercise  of  caution  in  receiving  Lord  Macaulay's 
statements,  and  adopting  his  conclusions  as  to  other 
matters,  is  a  question  which  every  reader  must  deter- 
mine for  himself.  After  the  lapse  of  more  than  a 
century  and  a  half,  such  inquiries  should  be  freed  from 
the  passions  which  naturally  biassed  the  judgments  of 
contemporary  historians.  Genius  and  heroism  arc  the 
heritage  of  no  party.  Tory  slanders  against  Marl- 
borough, and  Whig  calumnies  against  Dundee,  should 


Xll  Tlir:    NKVV    "  EXAMEN. 

))(!  l)uric(l  l)cncatli  the  stately  mausoleum  at  lileiilieim 
and  the  green  turf  of  the  peaceful  kirkyard  at  Blair 
Athole.  It  is  not  as  Tories  or  as  Whigs,  but  as  Eng- 
lishmen and  Scotsmen,  that  we  inherit  the  benefits 
conferred  upon  us  by  the  victorious  career  of  the  one, 
and  the  bright  example  of  courage  and  fidelity  to  a 
falling  cause  bequeathed  to  us  by  the  other.  It  is  not 
as  members  of  this  or  that  communion,  but  as  men 
sharing  in  the  common  feelings  of  religion  and  hu- 
manity, that  we  respect  the  pure  life  of  the  Quaker 
Penn,  and  execrate  the  atrocities  which  stained  the 
valley  of  Glencoe  with  innocent  blood. 

If  the  following  pages  should  assist  even  a  few  in- 
quirers after  truth,  and  remove  some  obstacles  from 
their  path  in  the  course  of  an  investigation  which  I 
have  found  not  unattended  with  a  certain  amount  of 
labour,  it  is  all  that  I  desire.  I  can,  at  any  rate^  say 
that  I  have  pursued  that  inquiry  honestly,  and  that  I 
have  furnished  every  means  of  testing  my  accuracy. 

I  remain,  my  dear  Sir  John,  with  every  feeling  of 
respect  and  attachment, 

Very  faithfully  yours, 

JOIIX  TAGET. 
London,  1861. 


INTRODUCTORY    NOTE. 


The  '  Exanien '  is  a  Second  Edition.  Tlie  Essays  in  the  rest 
of  the  Volume  are  now  publislied  for  the  first  time  in  a 
collected  form. 


THE    NEW     ''EXAMEN" 


I.  THE  DUKE   OF   MARLBOROUGH 
II.  THE   MASSACRE   OF   GLENCOE 

III.  THE   HIGHLANDS   OF   SCOTLAND 

IV.  VISCOUNT  DUNDEE 
V.  WILLIAM   PENN 


"  He  lias  \vritten  an  incomparable  book.  He  has  written  something 
better,  pcrliajis,  than  the  best  history ;  Init  he  has  not  written  a  good 
history:  he  is  from  the  first  chapter  to  the  last,  an  inventor." — Lokd 
Macaulay's  Miscell.  Writings,  i.  233  [1828]. 


THE    NEW    "EX  A  MEN." 


THE    DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH.^ 

The  peculiar  charm  of  Lord  Macaulay's  writings  arises  from 
the  fact  that  his  vivid  imagination  enables  him  to  live  for 
the  time  amongst  those  whose  portraits  he  paints.  The  per- 
sons of  his  drama  are  not  cold  abstractions  summoned  up 
from  the  past  to  receive  judgment  for  deeds  done  in  the 
flesh  ;  they  are  living  men  and  women — beings  to  be  loved 
or  hated,  feared  or  despised,  with  all  the  fervency  which  be- 
longs to  Lord  Macaulay's  character.  The  attention  of  the 
reader  is  excited,  his  sympathies  are  awakened,  his  passions 
are  aroused ;  he  devours  page  after  page  and  volume  after 
volume  with  an  appetite  similar  to  that  which  attends  upon 
the  perusal  of  the  most  stirring  fiction ;  he  closes  the  book 
with  regret,  and  then,  and  not  till  then,  comes  the  reflection 
that  he  lias  been  listening  to  the  impassioned  harangue  of 
the  advocate,  not  to  the  calm  summing-up  of  the  judge.  It 
would  be  well  if  this  were  the  worst.  We  are  reluctantly 
convinced  that  Lord  Macaulay  sometimes  exceeds  even  the 
privileges  of  the  advocate ;  that  when  he  arraigns  a  culprit 
before  the  tribunal  of  public  opinion,  and  showers  down  upon 
him  that  terrible  invective  of  which  he  is  so  accomplished  a 
master,  evidence  occasionally  meets  with  a  treatment  at  his 

'  Blackwood's  Magazine,  June  1859, 


4  TITE    NEW    '•  EXAMEN. 

liands  IVoiii  wliicli  llio  least  scrupulous  practitioner  at  the  bar 
would  shrink.  Documents  are  suppressed,  dates  transposed, 
witnesses  of  the  most  infamous  character  are  paraded  as  pure 
and  unimpeachable,  and  even  forgotten  and  anonymous  slan- 
ders, of  the  foulest  description,  are  revived  and  cast  on  the 
unhappy  object  of  the  historian's  wrath. 

It  is  often  diflicult,  and  sometimes  impossible,  to  divine 
what  particular  qualities  will  arouse  Lord  ^lacaulay's  animo- 
sity. The  virtues  which  receive  the  tribute  of  admiration  and 
respect  when  they  are  found  in  one  man,  appear  to  excite 
nothing  but  contempt  when  they  are  met  with  in  another ; 
and,  in  like  manner,  the  vices  which  in  one  are  venial 
transgressions,  chargeable  rather  on  the  age  than  on  the 
individual,  become  disgraceful  offences  or  foul  crimes  in 
another. 

An  example  of  this  occurs  in  his  treatment  of  the  domestic 
irregularities  of  James  and  William. 

Both  those  monarchs  were  unfaithful  to  their  wives.  Lord 
Macaulay  records  the  "  highly  criminal "  passion  of  James  for 
Arabella  Churchill  and  for  Catharine  Sedley,  sneering  con- 
temptuously at  the  plain  features  of  the  one  and  the  lean  form 
and  haggard  countenance  of  the  other,^  but  forgetting  the 
charms  recorded  in  the  Memoirs  of  Grammont  as  those  to 
which  the  former  owed  her  power,  and  whilst  admitting  the 
talents  which  the  latter  inherited  from  her  father,  denying  any 
capacity  in  the  King  to  appreciate  them.  William,  on  the 
other  hand,  married  to  a  young,  beautiful,  and  faithful  wife, 
to  whose  devotion  he  owed  a  crown,  in  return  for  which  she 
only  asked  the  affection  which  he  had  withheld  for  years, 
maintained,  during  the  whole  of  his  married  life,  an  illicit 
connection  with  Elizabeth  Villiers  (who  squinted  abominably ),2 
upon  whom  he  settled  an  estate  of  £25,000  a-year,^  making 
her  brother  (whose  wife  he  introduced  to  the  confidence  of  the 

1  Vol.  ii.  1858,  34,  322-4.     Vol.  i.  8vo,  459 ;  ii.  69. 

2  "I  think  the  devil  was  in  it  the  other  day,  that  I  should  talk  to  her  of 
an  ugly  S([iiinting  cousin  of  hers,  and  the  poor  lady  herself,  you  know,  squints 
like  a  dragon."— Swift  to  Stella,  Oct.  28,  1712. 

3  Journal  to  Stella,  Sept.  15,  1712,  note.  Vol.  xv.  318  ;  Nichol's  Edition, 
1808. 


THE    DUKE    OF   MARLBOROUGH.  5 

Queen,^)  a  peer;  and  Lord  Macaulay  passes  it  over  as  an  in- 
stance of  the  commerce  of  superior  minds  !  ^  In  James,  con- 
jugal infidelity  is  a  coarse  and  degrading  vice ;  in  William,  it 
is  an  intellectual  indulgence,  hardly  deserving  serious  repre- 
hension. In  like  manner,  the  inroads  upon  law  attempted  by 
James,  under  the  mask  of  a  regard  for  the  rights  of  conscience, 
are  justly  and  unsparingly  denounced  ;  whilst  the  ambition 
which  urged  William,  by  the  cruel  means  of  domestic  unkind- 
ness,  to  fix  his  grasp  prospectively  on  the  crown  of  England, 
long  before  any  necessity  for  such  an  invasion  of  the  con- 
stitution had  arisen,  is  wise  foresight,  regard  for  religious 
freedom,  the  interests  of  Protestantism,  and  the  attainment 
of  the  great  object  of  his  life — the  curbing  the  exorbitant 
power  of  France.^ 

Lord  Macaulay's  Wliiggisra  sometimes  affords  a  clue  to  his 
historical  predilections.  It  is  easy  to  understand  why  he 
should  take  pleasure  in  perpetuating,  in  the  most  exaggerated 
form  of  hostile  tradition,  every  story,  however  apocryphal, 
that  can  tarnish  the  gallantry  and  fidelity  of  Dundee,  and  in 
repeating,  after  reiterated  confutation,  every  groundless  slan- 
der upon  William  Penn.  But  this  is  not  always  a  safe  guide. 
In  one  instance,  and  that  the  most  remarkable  of  all,  the  case 
is  the  very  reverse.  By  a  strange  caprice,  the  man  whom  Lord 
Macaulay  especially  delights  to  dishonour  is  the  very  one 
whose  genius  shed  most  honour  on  the  Whig  party,  who  con- 
tributed more  perhaps  than  any  other  to  place  William  upon 
the  throne,  but  for  whom  the  landing  at  Torbay  might  not 
improbably  have  been  followed  by  a  similar  result  to  that  at 
Lyme,  and  whose  imperishable  glory  (a  glory  Mhich  has  made 
his  name  second  only,  if  indeed  it  be  second,  to  that  of  Wel- 

^  "Edward  Villiors,  afterwards  successively  created  Baron  Yillitrs  and  Earl 
of  Jersey,  was  in  liigli  favour  with  Kiiif,'  William,  to  whom  his  sister  Elizabeth 
was  mistress,  and  at  the  same  time  his  lady  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  Queen 
Mary." — Coxc,  i.  .34,  note. 

2  Voh  vii.  96,  1858;  iv.  471,  8vo  ;  ii.  174. 

'  Vol.  ii.  172,  178,  179,  to  190,  passim,  Svo  ;  Burnet,  vol.  iii.  129  ;  notes 
hy  Swift  a7id  Lord  Dartmouth,  ibid.,  130,  131.  The  useful  and  discreditable 
part  played  by  Burnet  in  this  transaction  comes  out  more  plainly  in  his  own 
narrative  than  in  Lord  Macaulay's  brilliant  paraphrase. 


6  TIIK    NHW    "  KXAMKN. 

lingtoii  ill  tlu;  iuiiiiilsol'  I'jigluiid)  is  derived  I'loiii  lii.s  Ion;,'  iiiid 
succussful  contest  with  that  power,  to  curb  which  William 
had  devoted  every  energy  of  liis  mind. 

Brilliant  as  were  the  services  rendered  by  ^larlborough  to 
his  country,  grand  as  was  his  genius,  great  and  many  as  were 
his  virtues,  public  and  private,  that  regard  for  truth  wliich  we 
are  about  to  vindicate  as  the  quality  most  essential  of  all  to 
the  historian,  compels  us  to  admit  that  he  did  not  walk,  from 
the  age  of  sixteen  to  sixty-four,  through  all  the  mazes  of 
politics  and  revolutions,  of  war  and  of  courts,  in  an  age  the 
most  profligate  in  morals,  public  and  private,  that  England 
has  seen — rising  from  the  humble  post  of  carrying  a  pair  of 
colours  to  the  very  summit  of  earthly  power — without  con- 
tracting some  stains  of  the  vices  prevalent,  it  might  almost  be 
said  universal,  in  his  day.  Making  the  most  amj)le  allowance 
for  this,  enough  remains  to  make  every  true  Englishman  look 
to  Marlborough  with  pride,  reverence,  and  affection ;  and, 
moved  by  these  feelings,  we  shall  proceed  to  discharge  our 
share  of  a  duty  we  feel  incumbent  on  all  honest  men,  by  re- 
moving some  at  least  of  the  dirt  which  has  been  so  plentifully 
and  so  unscrupulously  cast  upon  the  Great  Captain  by  Lord 
Macaulay. 

Lord  Macaulay's  picture  of  the  youth  of  IMarlborough  is  suf- 
ficiently repulsive.  He  was,  he  says,  so  iUiterate,  that  "  he 
could  not  spell  the  most  common  words  in  his  own  language."  ^ 
He  was  "  thrifty  in  his  very  vices,  and  levied  ample  contribu- 
tions on  ladies  enriched  by  the  spoils  of  more  liberal  lovers."^ 
He  was  "  kept  by  the  most  profuse,  imperious,  and  shameless 
of  harlots."  ^  He  subsisted  upon  "  the  infamous  wages  be- 
stowed upon  him  by  the  Duchess  of  Cleveland."*  He  was 
"  insatiable  of  riches."  ^  He  '*  was  one  of  the  few  who  have 
in  the  bloom  of  youth  loved  lucre  more  than  wine  or  women, 
and  who  have,  at  the  height  of  greatness,  loved  lucre  more 
than  power  or  fame."  "^  "  All  the  precious  gifts  which  nature 
had  lavished  upon  him,  he  valued  chiefly  for  what  they 
would  fetch." ^     "At  twenty  he  made  money  of  his  beauty 

1  Vol.  ii.  34,  1858.  2  n.i.i^  35  3  ii,ij_^  515.  4  ibid.,  517. 

s  Ibid.  «  Vol.  iii.  Svo,  438.  ^  Ibid. 


THE    DUKE    OF   MARLBOROUGH.  7 

and  his  vigour ;  at  sixty  he  made  money  of  his  genius  and 
glory  ;"i  and  he  "  owed  his  rise  in  life  to  his  sister's  shame." ^ 

With  regard  to  the  want  of  a  liberal  education — which,  by 
the  way,  is  a  charge  rather  against  his  father  than  against 
himself — it  is  sufficient  to  observe  that  he  was  educated  at  St 
Paul's  school,  and  that  his  despatches  show  that,  at  any  rate, 
he  was  a  proficient  in  Latin,  French,  and  English  composition.^ 
He  appears,  however,  to  have  passed  through  his  school  course 
as  the  Duke  of  Wellington  afterwards  did  at  Eton,  without 
distinction,  A  competitive  examination  would  probably  have 
excluded  both  from  the  army,  and  the  result  of  Blenheim 
and  Waterloo  might  have  been  reversed.  He  owed  more  to 
nature  than  to  schoolmasters ;  and  Bolingbroke  truly  summed 
up  his  character  in  the  fewest  possible  words,  when  he  said 
that  he  w^as  "the  perfection  of  genius  matured  by  expe- 
rience." * 

Plunged  at  a  very  early  age  into  the  dissipations  of  the  court  of 
Charles  II.,  his  remarkably  handsome  person  and  his  engaging 
manners  soon  attracted  notice.  For  the  loathsome  imputation 
cast  upon  him  by  Lord  Macaulay,  that  he  availed  himself  of 
these  advantages  for  the  purposes  which  he  intimates — that 
he  bore  to  the  wealthy  and  licentious  ladies  of  the  court  the 
relation  which  Tom  Jones  did  to  Lady  Bellaston — we  can  dis- 
cover no  foundation  even  in  the  scandalous  chronicles  of  those 
scandalous  days.  That  he  did  not  bring  to  the  court  of 
Charles  the  virtue  which  made  the  overseer  of  Potiphar's 
houseliold  famous  in  that  of  Pharaoh,  must  be  freely  admit- 
ted. The  circumstances  of  his  intrigue  with  the  Duchess  of 
Cleveland  are  recorded  in  the  pages  of  Grammont.^  Never, 
says  Hamilton,  were  her  charms  in  greater  perfection  than 
when  she  cast  her  eyes  on  the  young  officer  of  the  Guards. 
That  Churchill,  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  should  be  insensible 
to  the  passion  which  he  had  awaked  in  the  breast  of  the  most 
beautiful  woman  of  that  voluptuous  court,  was  hardly  to  be 
expected.     He  incurred,  in  consequence,  the  displeasure  of  the 

1  Vol.  iii.  8vo,  438.  "  Vol.  ii.  51.'5,  1853  ;  ii.  255,  Svo. 

3  Alison's  Life  of  Marlborough,  i.  3;  Coxe,  1,  2,  3. 

*  Alison,  ii.  387.  '•  P.  270,  280,  4to;  1783. 


8  TIIK    Ni;W    "  KXAMKN. 

Kill;:,  wlin  I'niliiulc  liiin  llu;  conrl.  I'"ar  ])C  it  from  us  to  Lc 
tlu^  julvocatcs  of  lax  iii(»iality  ;  ])Ut  Cliuifliill  imi.st  Ijc  judged 
by  the  standard  of  his  day.  He  corrupted  no  innocence ;  he 
invaded  no  domestic  peace.  The  Duchess  of  Cleveland  was 
not  only  the  most  beautiful,  but  slie  was  also  the  most  licen- 
tious and  tlie  most  inconstant  of  women.  From  the  King 
down  to  Jacob  Hall  she  dispensed  her  favours  according  to 
the  passion  or  the  fiincy  of  the  moment.  She  was  as  liberal 
of  her  purse  as  of  her  person,  and  Marlborough,  a  needy  and 
handsome  ensign,  no  doubt  shared  both.  But  it  is  a  mere 
misuse  of  language  to  charge  Churchill  with  receiving  "in- 
famous wages,"  or  to  say  that  he  was  "  kept  by  the  most 
profuse,  iniperious,  and  shameless  of  harlots,"  because  he 
entertained  a  daring  and  successful  passion  for  the  beautiful 
mistress  of  his  King. 

Of  two  stories  which  are  current  with  regard  to  this  amour, 
Lord  IMacaulay  accepts  one  and  rejects  the  other.  The  first 
is,  that  upon  one  occasion  the  King  surprised  Churchill  in  the 
apartment  of  the  Duchess,  upon  which  the  lover  saved  the 
honour  of  his  mistress  (such  as  it  was)  by  leaping  from  the 
window.  "With  regard  to  this,  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
Ilamilton,  who  must  have  known  the  story,  if  true,  and  who 
would  have  been  delighted  to  tell  it,  is  silent.  The  other  is, 
that  jSIarlborough,  in  his  prosperity,  refused  a  small  loan  to  the 
Duchess.  This  story  Lord  Macaulay  verj' properly  rejects.  He 
had  good  reason  to  suspect  its  falsehood,  for  it  is  told  by  his 
own  witness,  the  authoress  of  '  The  New  Atalautis,'  whose  filthy 
pages,  full  of  imputations  upon  "William,  even  more  foul  than 
those  upon  Marlborough,  Lord  ^lacaulay  has  honoured  by 
transferring  from  them  to  his  own,  in  some  cases  almost  word 
for  word,  the  abuse  for  heaping  which  upon  the  great  Whig 
General  she  was  paid  by  the  Tories.  Little  do  the  readers  of 
Lord  Macaulay  suspect  that  his  eloquent  denunciation  of 
jSLirlborough  is  but  a  rkhauffi  of  the  forgotten  scurrility  of  a 
female  hack  scribe,  whom  Swift  used  to  call  one  of  his  "under 
spur-leathers."  ^ 

»  See  the  history  of  "Count  Fortunatus,"  Kew  Atalantis,  i.  21-43.      The 
|\assagc  is  too  long,  and  part  of  it  wholly  unfit,  for  quotation.     Any  reader 


THE    DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH.  9 

Such  is  the  history  of  the  amour  of  Churchill  \vith  the 
Duchess  of  Cleveland.  But  a  pure  and  ennobling  attachment, 
to  which  he  remained  faithful  till  the  grave  closed  over  him, 
soon  dispelled  his  passion  for  the  lovely  and  inconstant 
Duchess.  This  cold,  sordid  profligate — for  such  Lord  ^lacau- 
lay  would  fain  persuade  us  he  was — married,  at  the  age  of 
eight-and-twenty,  a  beautiful  and  penniless  girl,  after  an 
engagement  prolonged  by  the  poverty  of  both  parties. 

To  judge  of  the  animus  which  pervades  the  whole  of  Lord 
Macaulay's  account  of  ^Marlborough,  it  is  only  necessary  to 
observe  the  mode  in  which,  with  regard  to  him,  he  treats  the 
passions  and  the  virtues  which,  through  all  ages,  have  been 
most  certain  to  awaken  the  sympathies  and  secure  the  respect 
and  attachment  of  mankind. 

Lord  INIacaulay's  intimate  acquaintance,  if  not  with  human 
nature,  at  any  rate  wdth  the  writings  of  those  who,  in  all  ages 
and  all  languages,  have  most  deeply  stirred  the  heart  of  man, 
might  have  told  him  that  tale  of  young  passionate  love  mel- 
lowing into  deep  and  tender  affection,  living  on  linked  to  eter- 
nity, stronger  than  death  and  deeper  than  the  grave,  was  fitly 
the  object  of  feelings  far  different  from  those  which  it  appears 
to  waken  in  his  breast.  It  is  a  singular  fact  that  two  of  the 
most  vigorous  writers  of  the  English  language  appear  to  be  in 
total  ignorance  of  all  the  feelings  which  take  their  rise  from 
the  passion  of  love.  We  know  of  no  single  line  that  has  fallen 
from  the  pen  of  Swift,  or  from  that  of  Lord  Macaulay,  which 
indicates  any  sympathy  with  that-  passion  which  affords  in 
the  greater  number  of  minds  the  most  powerful  of  all  motives. 
The  love  of  Churchill  and  Sarah  Jennings  seems  to  inspire 
Lord  Macaulay  with  much  the  same  feelings  as  those  with 
which  a  certain  personage,  whom  Dr  Johnson  used  to  call 
"  the  first  AVhig,"  regarded  the  hai)pines3  of  our  first  parents 
in  the  Garden  of  Eden.  It  is  difficult  to  say  whether  the  fol- 
lowing passage  is  more  distinguished  by  bad  feeling  or  bad 
taste — by  malignant  insinuation  or  jingling  antithesis  — 

whoso  curiosity  may  lead  liini  to  verify  our  assertion  may  compare  p.  27  with 
Macaulaj',  vol.  ii.  8vo,  ISTjO,  p.  2.')4,  coiitaiiiin;^  the  accDUiit  of  Marlborough's 
marriage,  and  p.  26,  31,  41,  and  13,  with  i.  457,  458,  and  ii.  251,  252,253. 


10  THK    NEW    "KXAMEN." 

"  He  iiiumI,  liiivc  Ik'cii  ciminouicd  imlciil.  For  li<-  liiul  little  i)ro|»c;rty, 
I'Xtcpt  lilt!  aiiMuily  whicli  he  luul  l»ouj,'ht  with  tlie  inriiriious  wageH  he- 
Hti)\M<l  on  iiiiii  li_v  the.  Duchf.sH  of"  CIcvclaiul  :  he  was  iiiHatiable  of  richeK  : 
Sarah  was  jxtor  ;  and  a  plain  ^,'iil  with  a  larf,'e  fortune  was  jtroposed  to 
him.  His  love,  after  a  fitru},'gh;,  i)revail('il  over  liis  avarice:  marriage 
only.strcn^'thi'ni'd  his  passion  ;  and,  to  tlie  last  hour  of  his  life,  Sarah 
enjoyed  the  pleasure  and  distinction  of  heing  the  one  human  lieing  who 
was  able  to  mislead  that  farsighted  and  surefooted  judgment,  who  was 
fervently  loved  liy  that  cold  heart,  and  who  was  servilely  feared  by  that 
intrepid  spirit."  ^ 

Such  is  tliG  language  in  which  Lord  MacaiUay  speaks  of  a 
love  as  constant  and  fervent  as  any  recorded  in  the  pages  of 
history,  or  even  of  fiction.  jNIarlborough's  letters,  written  to 
his  wife  in  the  decline  of  life,  and  at  the  summit  of  his  fame, 
breathe  a  passion  as  warm,  a  tenderness  as  devoted,  as  that 
which  inspired  the  young  and  ardent  lover  to  brave  that 
poverty  which  Lord  Macaulay  asserts  was  the  earthly  "  evil  he 
most  dreaded  "  ^  to  win  her  hand  ;  and  years  after  his  death, 
when  that  hand  was  sought  in  second  wedlock  by  the  Duke 
of  Somerset,  she  replied — "  If  I  were  young  and  handsome 
as  I  was,  instead  of  old  and  faded  as  I  am,  and  you  could 
lay  the  empire  of  the  world  at  my  feet,  you  should  never 
share  the  heart  and  hand  that  once  belonged  to  John,  Duke 
of  Marlborough."  ^ 

'  Vol.  ii.  517  ;  IS.'SS.  2  Ibid. 

3  Alison's  Life  of  JLirlborougli,  ii.  318.  Lord  Macaulay  makes  a  foul  and 
groundless  insinuation  against  the  Duchess  in  relation  to  her  interview  with 
Shrewsbury  in  1C90,  ontho  subject  of  the  provision  for  the  Princess  Anne. 
His  words  are  as  follows  :  "After  some  inferior  agents  had  expostulated  with 
her  in  vain,  Shrewsbury  waited  on  her.  It  might  have  been  expected  that  his 
intervention  would  have  been  successful  ;  for  if  the  scandalous  chronicle  of 
those  times  could  be  trusted,  he  hod  stood  high,  too  high,  in  her  favour."  *  No 
one  ought  to  know  better  than  Lord  Macaulay  that  Sarah  Jennings  passed 
through  the  ordeal  of  the  court  of  Charles  the  Second  with  a  reputation  perfectly 
unsullied  ;  that  no  breath  of  scandal  ever  tainted  the  purity  of  her  chamcter. 
Yet  he  makes  this  infamous  imputation  on  no  better  authoritj-  than  a  doggerel 
lampoon,  entitled  "The  Female  Nine."  We  have  bestowed  no  small  amount 
of  laltour  in  the  endeavour  to  discover  this  forgotten  trash,  but  without  succes.s. 
We  have  exhausted  all  sources  of  information  (and  they  have  not  been  few) 
open  to  us  :  and  wc  shall  feel  greatly  indebted  to  any  reader  wlio  may  be  aide 
to  direct  us  where  we  can  obtain  a  sight  of  the  "  contemporary  lampoon  "  which 
Lord  Macaulay  considers  sufficiently  trustworthy  to  entitle  him  to  cast  a  slur 
.  "  Vol.  iiL  565,  Svo. 


THE    DUKE   OF    MARLBOROUGH.  11 

That  the  passion  of  James  for  Arabella  Churchill  smoothed 
the  early  steps  in  her  brother's  path  to  fame  may  be  admitted. 
"  Cela  etait  dans  I'ordre,"  is  the  remark  of  Hamilton  ;  ^  and  in 
the  court  of  Charles  it  was  not  esteemed  shame.  Beyond  this, 
no  blame  can  fairly  attach  to  Marlborough.  His  sister  was 
some  years  older  than  himself.  He  was  a  mere  boy  when 
the  connection  began,  and  was  hardly  twenty  at  the  time  of 
the  birth  of  the  Duke  of  Berwick.  Taking  into  account  the 
manners  of  the  day,  the  amount  of  moral  reprobation  with 
which  Churchill's  acquiescence  in  the  feelings  with  which  his 
father  and  the  rest  of  his  family,  according  to  Lord  IMacaulay, 
regarded  the  connection  of  Arabella  with  the  Duke  of  York, 
will  be  but  small. 

We  now  come  to  the  charges  of  avarice  and  fraud.  "  The 
applauses  justly  due,". says  Lord  Macaulay,  "to  his  conduct  at 
Walcourt,  could  not  altogether  drown  the  voices  of  those  who 
muttered  that,  wherever  a  broad  piece  was  to  be  saved  or 

upon  the  character  of  a  ^vom;m  who,  whatever  other  faults  she  might  liave,  hns 
up  to  tliis  time  borne  an  unsullied  reputation  for  a  virtue  rare  in  that  age  and 
that  court.  Lord  Macaulay,  when  he  penned  this  sentence,  had  before  him 
(for  he  refers  to  it)  the  evidence  that  at  this  time  Shrewsbury  was  not  even  on 
visiting  terms  with  the  Duchess.  (See  her  narrative,  33.)  Lord  Macaulay 
calls  the  Duchess  "a?!  abandoned  liar,"  and  says  that,  "witli  habitual  in- 
accuracy which,  even  when  she  has  no  motive  for  lying,  makes  it  necessary  to 
read  every  word  written  by  her  with  susi)icion,  she  creates  Shrewsbury  a  duke, 
and  represents  herself  as  calling  him  'Your  Grace.'  He  was  not  made  a  duke 
till  1694"  (note  vol  iii.  565).  The  Duchess  docs  nothing  of  the  kind.  The 
"habitual  inaccuracy "  is  not  hers,  but  Lord  Macaulay's.  Writing  long  after 
1694,  and  when  Shrewsbury  had  been  a  duke  many  years,  she  speaks  of  him  as 
"The  Duke,"  and  relates  what  he  said  to  ^^  His  Grace."  She  does  not,  as 
Lord  Macaulay  asserts,  represent  herself  as  calling  him  "  Your  Grace,"  or  use 
the  words  "  Your  Grace"  at  all;  though  Lord  JIacaulay  marks  those  words 
with  inverted  commas.  Would  Lord  Macaulay  think  himself  justified  in  de- 
nouncing as  an  ".abandoned  liar"  a  writer  who,  in  the  jiresent  day,  should 
refer  to  the  Duhc  of  Wellington's  victories  in  the  Peninsula  without  specifying 
that  he  was  a  viscount  at  Busaco,  an  earl  at  Badajos,  and  a  marfiuess  at  San 
Sebastian  and  Toulouse,  and  that  he  was  not  made  a  duke  until  the  3d  of  May 
1814,  a  fortnight  after  the  war  had  terminated  ?  Is  it  necessary  to  read  with 
suspicion  cveiy  word  written  by  the  gallant  historian  of  that  war,  because  ho 
habitually  speaks  of  "  Lord"  Wellington — a  title  which  in  strictness  the  Duke 
never  held  at  all,  inasmuch  as  it  is  appropriate  to  a  baron,  and  the  Duke  was 
raised  at  one  step  to  the  rank  of  a  viscount  ? — or  are  we  bound,  in  criticising 
his  history,  to  speak  of  it  as  the  work  of  Mister  Macaulay  ? 
1  Memoirs  of  Granimont,  '2SU. 


12  Tiiio  nf:w  "kxamkn. 

got,  t/iis  hero  wos  a  mere  Euclio,  a  mere  Ilarpnf/on  :  tliat, 
tli()u;,'li  he  (Iniw  a  lar<,'o  allowance  under  pretence  of  keepin*^ 
a  i)ul)lic  table,  he  never  asked  an  oOicer  to  dinner ;  that  his 
VI icstcr-rolls  were  fraudulently  made  up :  that  he  pocketed  pay 
ill  (he  names  of  men  who  had  long  hccn  dead,  of  men  who  had 
been  killed  in  his  own  si(jhtfour  years  before  at  Sedijcm.fjor ; 
that  there  were  twenty  such  names  in  one  troop ;  that  there 
were  thirty-six  in  another."  ^ 

As  "  L'Avare  "  was  first  acted  in  1G67,  it  is  certainly  possible 
that  the  Jacobites  may  have  applied  to  the  great  object  of 
their  hatred  the  name  of  Harpagon  ;  but  as  Pope  was  not  born 
until  1 688,  the  voices  "  muttering  that  Marlborough  was  a 
mere  Euclio,"  which  had  to  be  drowned  in  1689,  must  have 
been  confined  to  the  readers  of  the  "  Aulularia  "  of  Plautus, 
about  which  the  Jacobites  in  general  would  probably  have 
said,  like  Edie  Ochiltree,  "  Lord-sake,  sir,  what  do  I  ken  about 
your  Howlowlaria  ? — it's  mair  like  a  dog's  language  than  a . 
man's."  This,  is,  however,  one  of  those  anachronisms  into 
which  Lord  Macaulay's  love  of  the  picturesque  sometimes 
misleads  him :  it  hardly  claims  a  passing  notice,  and  must  not 
divert  us  from  the  serious  inquiry  we  are  pursuing. 

The  charge  of  avarice  has  been  repeatedly  brought  and 
repeatedly  answered.  It  was  the  stock  charge  of  the  libellers 
and  pamphleteers  of  the  day.  Even  Swift  stooped  so  low  in 
his  "  Letter  to  Crassus  "  as  to  accuse  Marlborough  of  having 
risked  his  life  rather  than  lose  a  pair  of  old  stockings.  Such 
calumnies  answer  themselves.  His  declining,  when  in  poverty 
and  disgrace,  to  accept  of  the  generosit)'  of  the  Princess  Anne  ; 
his  repeated  refusal  of  the  government  of  the  Netherlands, 
with  its  princely  income  of  £60,000  a-year ;  ^  his  generosity  to 
young  and  desemng  officers  ;^  his  application  of  all  the  money 
at  his  private  disposal  amongst  the  wounded  officers  of  the 
enemy  after  the  battle  of  Malplaquet ;  *  his  liberal  provision 
during  his  own  lifetime  for  his  children  :  these,  and  many  other 
facts,  attest  his  disinterestedness  and  generosity,  public  and 
private.     These  were  not  the  acts  of  a  Euclio  or  a  Harpagon. 

1  Vol  V.  64,  edit.  1858  ;  iii.  438,  Svo. 
-'  Alison,  i.  2S3.  3  Ibid.,  ii.  394.  *  Ibid.,  ii  395. 


THE   DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH.  13 

The  latter  part  of  the  paragraph  we  have  quoted  contains  a 
more  specific  accusation  ;  nothing  less,  in  fact,  than  that  Marl- 
borough was  guilty  of  the  vulgar  crime  of  obtaining  money 
under  false  pretences.  We  have  searched  through  the  pro- 
ceedings which  took  place  on  the  fall  of  Marlborough  in  1712  ; 
through  the  writings  of  Swift  (not  a  merciful  or  scrupulous 
adversary) ;  through  such  of  the  pamphlets  of  the  day  as  we 
have  been  able  to  obtain,  without  discovering  any  trace  of  this 
very  serious  charge.  Lord  Macaulay  here,  however,  cites  his 
authority  in  these  words  ;  "  See  the  '  Dear  Bargain,'  a  Jacobite 
pamphlet,  clandestinely  irrinted  in  1690  ;"^  and  we  can  there- 
fore judge  what  kind  of  evidence,  unsupported  by  a  single 
tittle  of  confirmation,  he  considers  sufficient  to  convict  so  ^reat 
a  man  of  so  mean  a  crime. 

The  'Dear  Bargain'  is  a  quarto  pamphlet  of  twenty-four  pages, 
closely  printed  in  double  column,  without  title-page  or  date, 
or  the  name  of  the  author,  printer,  or  the  place  where  it  was 
printed.  It  is  even  more  scurrilous  and  stupid  than  the 
generality  of  such  publications.  William  is  accused  of  con- 
triving the  death  of  his  English  soldiers  by  sending  them  to 
die  of  starvation  and  disease  in  Holland,  where,  tlie  author 
says,  "  you  might  see  them  sprawling  by  parcels,  and  groaning 
under  the  double  gripes  of  their  bowels  and  their  con- 
sciences," ^  in  order  that  "  the  Dutch,  the  Danes,  and  other 
foreigners,  may  possess  our  country."  Mary  is  an  "  ungrate- 
ful TuUia," — "  astonishing  barbarous  nations,  scandalising 
Christianity,"  and  "driving  her  beasts  over  the  face  of  her 
dead  father."  Churchill  is  "  Judas  on  both  sides,"  with 
"  nothing  in  his  conduct,  from  one  end  to  the  other,  but  mere 
Judas  and  damnation."  James  is  "  King  Lear,"  "  our  lawful 
King,  who  has  shown  himself  upon  all  occasions  a  Lover  of 
his  people,  an  Encourager  of  trade,  a  Desirer  of  true  liberty 
to  tender  consciences,  an  Hater  of  all  injustice,  and  a  true 
Father  to  his  country."  ^ 

Sucli  is  the  '  Dear  Bargain.'  ••     Will  Lord  Macaulay  indorse 

'  Vi.l.  V.  G4,  note  ;  iii.  430  ;  8vo.  -  Pajrc  11.  »  Va^c  24. 

*  The  'Dear  Bargain  '  is  reprinted  amongst  the  Soinera  Tracts,  x.  3-19.  \\\ 
original  copy  is  preserved  in  the  Advocates'  Library. 


I  t  TiiK  XKW  "  f:xamkn. 

tilt'  l(!.stiinony  of  his  own  witness?     We  lianlly  lliiiik  Ik;  will. 
Vet  this  is  the  only  evidence  that  he  cites,  and,  as  far  as  we 
have  been  able  to  discover,  the  only  evidence  that  exists,  in 
support  of  this  foul  charge.     The  words  of  the  pampljlet  are  : 
"  lie  excelled  in  ^dving  false  muster-rolls,  even  twenty  in  one 
troop,   and   thirty-six    in  another,    putting   in   names,  some 
killed    in   Monmouth's   llebellion,   others   dead   in    England 
since,  and  alive  at  this  day,  out  of  all  service,  the  lists  of 
which  have  been  shown  to  me."  ^     The  picturesque  addition 
tliat  these  men  who,  according  to  the  nameless  and  ungram- 
matical  author,  were  both  dead  and  alive,  had  been  "  killed 
in  ]Marlborough's  own  sight  four  years  before  at  Sedgemoor," 
is  a  creation  of  Lord  Macaiilay's  own  strong  inventive  faculties. 
The  nameless  author  of  the  '  Dear  Bargain '  drops  a  naked,  mis- 
begotten calumny  in  the  streets,  where  it  lies  forgotten  for  a 
century  and  a  half,  and  would  have  perished,  as  it  deserved  ; 
but  Lord  Macau]  ay  picks  up  the  foundling,  dresses  it,  decks 
it  out,  introduces  it  to  the  world,  adopts  it,  gives  it  his  own 
name  and  the  sanction  of  his  character,  and  it  may  in  all  pro- 
bability live  and  flourish   as  long  as  the  English  language 
lasts.     Does  Lord  Macaulay  think  that  the  historian  has  no 
higher  duty,  no  deeper  responsibility,  than  this  ?     He  cannot 
plead  ignorance  of  the  infamous   character  of  his  witness. 
Upon  another  occasion,  when  he  addresses  himself  to  the  task 
of  attempting  to  clear  William  from  the  infamy  attaching  to 
the  Massacre  of  Glencoe,  he  says  :  "  We  can  hardly  suppose  he 
was  much  in  the  habit  of  reading  Jacobite  pamphlets  ;  and  if 
he  did  read  them,  he  would  have  found  in  them  such  a  quan- 
tity of  absurd  and  rancorous  invective  against  himself,  that  he 
would  have  been  very  little  inclined  to  credit  any  imputation 
which  they  might  throw  on  his  servants.     He  would  have  seen 
himself  accused,  in  one  tract,  of  being  a  concealed  Papist ;  in 
another,  of  having  poisoned  Jeffreys  in  the  Tower  ;  in  a  third, 
of  having  contrived  to  have  Talma sh  taken  off  before  Brest. 
He  would  have  seen  it  asserted  that  in  Ireland  he  once  ordered 
fifty  of  his  wounded  English  soldiers  to  be  burned  alive.     He 
would  have  seen  that  the  unalterable  affection  which  he  felt 

'  Page  21. 


THE    DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH.  15 

from  his  boyhood  to  his  death  for  three  or  four  of  the  bravest 
and  most  trusty  friends  that  ever  prince  had  the  happiness  to 
possess,  was  made  a  ground  for  imputing  to  him  abominations 
as  foul  as  those  which  are  buried  under  the  waters  of  the  Dead 
Sea.  He  might,  therefore,  naturally  be  slow  to  believe  fright- 
ful imputations  thrown  by  writers  whom  he  knew  to  be  habit- 
ual liars  on  a  statesman  whose  abilities  he  valued  highly,  and 
to  whose  exertions  he  had,  on  some  great  occasions,  owed 
much."  ^ 

Such  is  Lord  Macaulay's  description  of  the  Jacobite  pam- 
phleteers. The  witness  who  is  utterly  unworthy  of  belief  when 
he  deposes  against  William,  whose  testimony  the  King  was 
justified  in  rejecting  when  given  against  the  infamous  Master 
of  Stair,  is,  however,  wholly  unimpeachable  when  he  gives 
evidence  against  Marlborough.  It  is  on  the  testimony  of  one 
of  the  vilest  of  these  "  habitual  liars  "  that  Lord  Macaulay  asks 
his  readers  to  believe  this  foul  charge.  It  is  upon  this  evi- 
dence that  he  has  given  the  sanction  of  his  name  and  reputa- 
tion to  slanders  against  Marlborough,  as  false,  as  foul,  as  con- 
temptible as  some  which  we  can  ourselves  remember  to 
have  been  current  with  regard  to  an  equally  illustrious  man. 
It  is  to  be  hoped  that  no  future  historian  will  arise  to  play  the 
part  of  a  chiffonier  amongst  the  dirt-heaps  of  St  Giles's — to 
transcribe  from  filthy  broadsides  and  tattered  and  forgotten 
pamphlets  page  after  page  of  malignant  slander  against  the 
Hero  of  the  Peninsular  War,  and  to  give  the  result  of  his 
labour  to  the  world  as  the  life  and  character  of  Wellington  ! 

We  shall  now  proceed  to  examine  an  accusation  even  more 
serious,  and  to  investigate  the  grounds  on  which  Lord  ]\Iacaulay 
has  thought  himself  justified  in  denouncing  Marlborough  in 
distinct  terms  as  a  "  murderer."  That  we  may  run  no  risk  of 
misrepresenting  Lord  INIacaulay,  we  copy  the  whole  passage 
word  for  word.- 

"  William,  in  order  to  cross  the  designs  of  the  enemy,  determined  to 
send  Russell  to  the  Mediterranean  with  the  greater  part  of  the  eomliined 
lleet  of  England  and  IloUand.  A  sijuadron  was  to  remain  in  the  British 
seas,  under   the   command  of  the    Earl   of  Berkeley.     Talmash  was  to 

'  Vol.  iv.  579,  8vo,  1855.  =  Vol.  vii.  134,  edit,  of  1858  ;  iv.  507,  8vo. 


16  IIIK    Ni:\V    "  KXAMEN. 

<iiil)aik  f)ii  l«.;vr.l  nf  iIiIh  nquailron  with  a  large  body  of  troops,  and  was  to 
(itUck  Wn-A,  wliicli  would,  it  was  suppoaed,  in  the  absence  of  Tourvillt! 
and  his  lifty-lhrcc!  vchsuIh,  be  an  easy  conrpiest. 

"  That  ])icparatioiH  were  making  at  Portsmouth  for  an  expedition,  in 
which  the  land  forces  were  to  bear  a  part,  could  not  be  kept  a  secret. 
There  was  much  speculation  at  the  Ilose  ami  at  Garraway's  touching  the 
di'stination  of  the  armament.  Some  talked  of  Rhe,  some  of  Oleron,  some 
of  Rochelle,  some  of  Rochcfort.  Many,  till  the  fleet  actually  began  to 
move  westward,  believed  that  it  was  bound  for  Dunkirk.  Many  gnes.sed 
that  I'.rest  would  be  the  point  of  attack  ;  but  they  only  guessed  this,  for 
tlic  secret  was  much  better  kept  than  most  of  the  secrets  of  that  age.* 
Russell,  till  he  was  ready  to  weigh  anchor,  persisted  in  assuring  his 
Jacobite  friends  tltat  he  knew  nothing.  His  discretion  was  proof  even 
against  all  the  arts  of  Marlborough.  Marlborough,  however,  had  other 
sources  of  intelligence.  To  those  sources  he  applied  himself;  and 
he  at  length  succeeded  in  discovering  the  whole  plan  of  the  Govern- 
ment. He  instantly  ^v^ote  to  James.  He  had,  he  said,  but  that  moment 
ascertained  that  twelve  regiments  of  infantry  and  two  regiments  of  marines 
were  about  to  embark,  under  the  command  of  Talmash,  for  the  purpose 
of  destroying  the  harbour  of  Brest,  and  the  shipping  which  lay  there. 
*  This,'  he  added, '  would  be  a  great  advantage  to  England.  But  no  con- 
.■^ideration  can,  or  ever  shall,  hinder  me  from  letting  you  know  what  I 
think  may  be  for  your  service.'  He  then  proceeded  to  caution  James 
against  Russell.  '  I  endeavoured  to  learn  this  some  time  ago  from  him, 
but  he  always  denied  it  to  me,  though  I  am  very  sure  that  he  knew  the 
design  for  more  than  six  weeks.  This  gives  me  a  bad  sign  of  this  man's 
intentions.' ' 

"  The  intelligence  sent  by  Marlborough  to  James  was  communicated 
by  James  to  the  French  Government.  That  Government  took  its  mea- 
sures with  characteristic  promptitude.  Promptitude  was  indeed  neces- 
sary ;  for,  when  Marlborough's  letter  was  written,  the  preparations  at 
Portsmouth  were  all  but  complete  ;  and  if  the  wind  had  been  favourable 
to  the  English,  the  object  of  the  expedition  might  have  been  attained 

*  L'Hcrmitage,  May  15  [25].  After  mentioning  the  various  reports,  he  says: 
"  De  tons  ces  divers  projets  qu'on  s'imagine  aucun  n'est  venu  a  la  cognoissance 
du  public."  This  is  important ;  for  it  has  often  been  said,  in  excuse  for  Marl- 
borough, that  lie  communicated  to  the  Court  of  St  Germains  only  what  was  the 
talk  of  all  the  cofl'ee-houses,  and  must  have  been  known  without  his  instrumen- 
tality.— Note  by  Lord  Maoaulay,  edit,  of  1858. 

'  Life  of  James  IL,  522;  Macpherson,  i.  4S7.  The  letter  of  Marlborough 
is  dated  May  4.  It  was  enclosed  in  one  from  Saekville  to  Melfort,  which  would 
alone  suflice  to  prove  that  those  who  represent  the  intelligence  as  iminiportant 
arc  entirely  mistaken.  "  I  send  it,"  says  Saekville,  "by  an  express,  judging  it 
to  be  of  the  utmost  consequence  for  the  service  of  the  King  my  master,  and 
consequently  for  the  service  of  his  most  Christian  Majesty."  Would  Saekville 
have  written  thus  if  the  destination  of  the  expedition  had  been  alreatly  known 
to  all  the  world?— Note  by  Lord  JLacaulay,  edit,  of  1858. 


THE    DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH.  17 

without  a  struggle.  But  adverse  gales  detained  our  fleet  in  the  Cliannel 
during  another  mouth.  Meanwhile  a  large  hody  of  troops  was  collected 
at  Brest.  Vauban  was  charged  with  the  duty  of  putting  the  defences  in 
order  ;  and  under  his  skilful  direction,  liatteries  were  planted  which  com- 
manded every  spot  where  it  seemed  likely  that  an  invader  would  attempt 
to  land.  Eight  large  rafts,  each  carrying  many  mortars,  were  moored 
in  the  harbour,  and  some  days  before  the  English  arrived,  all  was  ready 
for  their  reception. 

"  On  the  6th  of  June  the  whole  allied  fleet  was  on  the  Atlantic,  about 
fifteen  leagues  west  of  Cape  Finisterre.      There  Russell  and   Berkeley 
parted  company.     Russell  proceeded  towards  the  Mediterranean  ;  Berke- 
ley's squadron,  with  the  troops  on  board,  steered  for  the  coast  of  Brittany, 
and  anchored  just  without  Camaret  Bay,  close  to  the  mouth  of  the  hai*- 
bour  of  Brest.     Talmash  proposed  to  land  in  Camaret  Bay.     It  was  there- 
fore desirable  to  ascertain  with  accuracy  the  state  of  the  coast.      The 
eldest  son  of  the  Duke  of  Leeds,  now  called  Marquess  of  Caermarthen, 
undertook  to  enter  the  basin,  and  to  obtain  the  necessary  information. 
The  passion  of  this  brave  and  eccentric  young  man  for  maritime  adven- 
ture was  unconquerable.     He  had  solicited  and  obtained  the  rank  of  Rear- 
Admiral,  and  had  accompanied  the  expedition  in  his  own  yacht,  the 
Peregrine,  renowned  as  the  masterpiece  of  shipbuilding,  and  more  than 
once  already  mentioned  in  this  history.     Cutts,  who  had  distinguished 
himself  by  his  intrepidity  in  the  Irish  war,  and  had  been  rewarded  with 
an  Irish  Peerage,  offered  to  accompany  Caernuirthen.    Lord  Mohun,  ^\■ho, 
desirous,  it  may  be  hoped,  to  efface  by  honourable  exploits  the  stain 
which  a  shameful  and  disastrous  brawl  had  left  on  his  name,  was  serving 
with  the  troops  as  a  volunteer,  insisted  on  being  of  the  party.     The  Pere- 
grine went  into  the  bay  with  its  gallant  crew,  and  came  out  safe,  but  not 
without  having  run  great  risks.    Caermarthen  reported  that  the  defences — 
of  which,  however,  he  only  had  seen  a  small  part — were  formidable.     But 
Berkeley  and  Talmash  suspected  that  he  overrated  the  danger.     They 
were  not  aware  that  their  design  had  long  been  known  at  Versailles  ; 
that  an  army  had  been  collected  to  oppose  them  ;  and  that  the  gi-eatest 
engineer  in  the  world  had  been  emi)loyed  to  fortify  the  coast  against 
them.     They  therefore  did  not  doubt  that  their  troops  might  easily  be 
l)Ut  on  shore  under  the  protection  of  a  fire  from  the  ships.     Ou   the 
following  morning  Caermarthen  was  ordered  to  enter  the  bay  with  eight 
vessels,  and  to  batter  the  French  works.     Talmash  was  to  follow  with 
about  a  hundred  boats  full  of  soldiers.     It  soon  appeared  that  the  enter- 
prise was  even  more  perilous  tlian  it  had  on  the  preceding  day  apjieared 
to  be.     Batteries  which  had  then  escaped  notice  opened  on  the  ships  a 
lire  so  murderous  that  several  decks  were  soon  cleared.     (Jreat  bodies  of 
foot  and  horse  were  discernible  ;  and,  by  their  uniftmn,  they  appeared  to 
l)e  regular  troops.     Tlie  young  Rear-Admiral  sent  an  officer  in  all  haste 
to  warn   Talmash.     But  Talmash  was  so  completely  possessed   l)y  the 
notion  that  the  French  were  not  prejtared  to  repel  an  attack,  that  he  dis- 
regarded all  cautions,  and  wouM  not  even  trust  liis  own  eyes.     lie  felt 


18  TIIK    NEW    "  EXAMEN. 

Hitrc  tliiit  tin;  force  which  he  saw  assembled  on  the  coa«t  was  a  mere 
nibhlc  of  peaHJUits,  who  hiul  been  brouj,'ht  to;,'ether  in  hawtc  from  the  Kur- 
roiuuling  country.  Conliclent  tliat  these  mock  soldiers  wouM  run  like 
sheep  before  real  sokliers,  he  ordered  his  men  to  pull  for  the  beach.  He 
was  soon  undeceived.  A  terrible  fire  mowed  down  his  troops  faster  than 
they  could  f^et  on  shore.  He  had  himself  scarcely  sprung  on  dry  ground 
when  he  received  a  wound  in  the  thigh  from  a  cinnon-ball,  and  was 
carried  back  to  his  skiff.  His  men  ro-embarked  in  confusion.  Ships 
and  boats  made  haste  to  get  out  of  the  bay,  but  did  not  succeed  till  four 
hundred  seamen  and  seven  hundred  soldiers  had  fallen.  During  many 
days  the  waves  continued  to  throw  up  pierced  and  shattered  corpses  on 
tile  beach  of  Brittany.  The  Ijattery  from  which  Talmash  received  his 
wound  is  called  to  this  day  the  Englishman's  Death. 

"  The  unliappy  general  was  laid  on  his  couch  ;  and  a  coimcil  of  war 
was  held  in  his  cabin.  He  was  for  going  straight  into  the  harbour  of 
Brest  and  bombarding  the  town.  But  this  suggestion,  which  indicated 
but  too  clearly  that  his  judgment  had  been  affected  by  the  irritation  of  a 
wounded  body  and  a  wounded  mind,  was  wisely  rejected  l>y  the  naval 
officers.  The  armament  returned  to  Portsmouth.  There  Talmash  died, 
exclaiming  with  his  last  breath  that  he  had  been  lured  into  a  snare  by 
treachery.  The  public  grief  and  indignation  were  loudly  expressed.  The 
nation  remembered  the  services  of  the  unfortxmate  general,  forgave  his 
rashness,  pitied  his  sufl'erings,  and  execrated  the  unkno\vii  traitors  whose 
machinations  had  been  fatal  to  him.  There  were  many  conjectures  and 
many  rumours.  Some  sturdy  Englishmen,  misled  by  national  prejudice, 
swore  that  none  of  our  jjlans  would  ever  be  kept  a  secret  from  the  enemy 
while  French  refugees  were  in  high  military  command.  Some  zealous 
"Whigs,  misled  by  party  spirit,  muttered  that  the  Court  of  St  Gemiains 
would  never  want  good  intelligence  while  a  single  Tory  remained  in  the 
Cabinet  Council.  The  real  criminal  was  not  named  ;  nor,  till  the  archives 
of  the  House  of  Stuart  were  explored,  was  it  known  to  the  public  that 
Talmash  had  perished  by  the  basest  of  all  the  hvmdred  \allanies  of  Marl- 
borough. ^ 

•'  Yet  never  had  Marlborough  been  less  a  Jacobite  than  at  the  moment 
when  he  rendered  this  wicked  ;xnd  shameful  service  to  the  Jacobite  cause. 
It  may  be  confidently  affirmed  that  to  serve  the  banished  family  was  not 
his  object,  and  that  to  ingratiate  himself  with  the  banished  family  was 
only  his  secondary  object.  His  primaiy  object  was  to  force  himself  into 
the  service  of  the  existing  Government,  and  to  gain  possession  of  those 
important  and  lucrative  places  from  which  he  had  been  dismissed  more 
than  two  years  before.  He  knew  that  the  country  and  the  Parliament 
would  not  patiently  bear  to  see  the  English  army  commanded  by  foreign 
generals.  Two  Englishmen  only  had  sho\ni  themselves  fit  for  high  mili- 
tar}'  posts,  himself  and  Talmash.     If  Talmash  were  defeated  and  dis- 

1  London  Gazette,  June  14,  18,  1694;  Paris  Gazette,  June  16  [July  3]; 
Hurchctt ;  Journal  of  Lord  Caermarthen;  Baden,  June  15  [25];  L'Hermitage, 
June  l.*;  [25],  19  [29]. 


THE    DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH.  19 

graced,  William  would  scarcely  have  a  choice.  In  fact,  as  soon  as  it  was 
known  that  the  expedition  had  failed,  and  that  Talmash  was  no  more, 
the  general  cry  was  that  the  king  ought  to  receive  into  his  favour  the 
accomplished  captain  who  had  done  such  good  service  at  Walcourt,  at 
Cork,  and  at  Kinsale.  Nor  can  we  blame  the  multitude  for  raising  this 
cry.  For  everybody  knew  that  Marlborough  was  an  eminently  brave, 
skilful,  and  successful  officer.  But  very  few  persons  knew  that  he  had, 
while  commanding  William's  troops,  while  sitting  in  William's  council, 
while  waiting  in  William's  bedchamber,  formed  a  most  artful  and  danger- 
ous plot  for  the  subversion  of  William's  throne  ;  and  still  fewer  suspected 
the  real  author  of  the  recent  calamity,  of  the  slaughter  in  the  Bay  of 
C'amaret,  of  the  melancholy  fate  of  Talmash.  The  effect,  therefore,  of 
the  foulest  of  all  treasons,  was  to  raise  the  traitor  in  the  public  estima- 
tion. Nor  was  he  wanting  to  himself  at  this  conjuncture.  While  the 
Royal  Exchange  was  in  consternation  at  the  disaster  of  which  he  was  the 
cause,  while  many  families  were  clothing  themselves  in  mourning  for  the 
brave  men  of  whom  he  was  the  murderer,  he  repaired  to  Whitehall,  and 
there,  doubtless  with  all  that  grace,  that  nobleness,  that  suavity,  under 
which  lay,  hidden  from  all  common  observers,  a  seared  conscience  and  a 
remorseless  heart,  he  professed  himself  the  most  devoted,  the  most  loyal, 
of  all  the  subjects  of  William  and  Mary,  and  expressed  a  hope  that  he 
might,  in  tliis  emergency,  be  permitted  to  offer  his  sword  to  their  ma- 
jesties. Shrewsljury  was  very  desirous  that  the  offer  should  be  accepted  ; 
but  a  short  and  dry  answer  from  William,  who  was  then  in  the  Nether- 
lands, put  an  end  for  the  present  to  all  negotiations.  About  Talmash 
the  king  expressed  himself  with  generous  tenderness.  '  The  poor  fellow's 
fate,'  he  wrote,  '  has  affected  me  much.  I  do  not  indeed  think  that  he 
managed  well ;  but  it  was  his  ardent  desire  to  distinguish  himself  that 
impelled  him  to  attempt  impossibilities.'  " ' 

We  are  willing  to  accept  this  passage  as  the  battle-ground  on 
which  to  decide  the  question  how  far  Lord  Macaulay's  treat- 
ment of  evidence  entitles  him  to  confidence  as  an  historian. 
AVe  do  so  for  two  reasons.  First,  it  is  selected  by  Lord 
Macaulay  himself  as  the  strongest  case  against  INIarlborough  ; 
and  secondly,  the  evidence  lies  in  a  very  narrow  compass,  and 
is  to  be  found  on  the  shelves  of  every  ordinary  library.  The 
reader  may  therefore  easily  judge  for  himself,  and  from  a  short 
examination  supply  himself  with  a  measure  by  whicli  to  gauge 
the  amount  of  confidence  to  be  placed  in  other  statements. 

This  charge  may  be  divided  under  four  heads — 

^  "Shrewsbury  to  William,  June  15  [2o],  IfiOl  ;  WHliain  to  Shrewsbury, 
July  1  ;  Shrewsbury  to  Willi.-im,  Juno  22  [July  2]."— Macaulay,  vol.  iv.  8vo, 
1855;  vol.  vii.  (1858)  p.  131. 


20  Tin:    SEW    "KXAMEN. 

I.  1'liiiL  iMaill)orou;,'Ii,  making  use  of  certain  sources  of  in- 
forination  peculiar  to  himself,  discovered  the  design  of  the 
Government  to  make  a  descent  upon  Brest,  and  revealed  it 
to  James,  and  through  him  to  Louis,  who  would  not  otherwise 
liave  known  it  in  time  to  prepare  for  defence. 

II.  That  the  information  so  communicated  by  Marlborough 
enabled  the  French  Government  to  take  such  steps,  and  that 
they  did  thereupon  take  such  steps,  as  rendered  the  expedition 
al)ortive. 

III.  That  Talmash  was  by  these  means  "  lured  into  a  snare," 
and,  to  use  Lord  Macaulay's  own  words,  "  perished  by  the 
basest  of  all  the  hundred  villanies  of  Marlborough." 

IV.  That  Marlborough  was  thus  the  real  author  of  the 
slaughter  in  Camaret  Bay,  and  the  "  murderer  of  Talmash,"  his 
object  being  to  get  rid  of  Talmash  as  a  personal  rival,  and  to 
force  himself  back  into  the  service  of  the  Government  and  the 
possession  of  the  important  and  lucrative  places  from  which 
he  had  been  discharged  two  years  before. 

It  is  impossible  to  deepen  the  shadows  of  this  picture.  If  it 
be  true,  Marlborough  was  a  monster  of  depravity ;  if  it  be  false, 
and  if  it  can  be  shown  that  Lord  Macaulay  had  before  him  the 
evidence  showing  its  falsehood,  we  should  be  sorry  to  put  into 
plain  English  what  Lord  Macaulay  must  be  held  to  be  in  the 
estimation  of  all  honest  men. 

To  fix  this  charge  upon  Marlborough,  Lord  jMacaulay  relies 
upon  the  revelations  contained  in  the  Stuart  Papers.  Until 
the  archives  of  that  house  were  explored  (he  says),  the  "  real 
criminal  was  not  named,"  nor  "  was  it  known  to  the  world 
that  Talmash  had  perished  by  the  basest  of  all  the  hundred 
villanies  of  ^Marlborough."  i 

These  papers,  therefore,  are  the  authority  upon  which  Lord 
Macaulay  relies,  and  we  shall  proceed  to  show  from  these  very 
papers  that  every  one  of  the  charges  is  groundless  ;  that  the 
guilt  of  one  man  has  been  laid  upon  the  shoulders  of  another ; 
that  the  "  real  criminal "  has  been  shielded ;  that  evidence  has 
been  garbled ;  that  facts  have  been  suppressed,  and  the  whole 
transaction  so  distorted  and  disfigured,  that  it  is  impossible  to 

'  Vol.  iv.  .'512,  Svo. 


THE    DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH.  2L 

recognise  its  true  features.  These  are  grave  charges.  If  we  do 
not  conclusively  establish  their  truth,  upon  our  heads  be  the 
responsibility. 

In  the  original  Stuart  Papers,  published  by  ^Tacpherson, 
under  the  date  of  May  1694,^  is  a  report  headed  "Accounts 
brought  by  Captain  Floyd,  lately  arrived  from  England." 

rioyd  was  groom  of  the  bedchamber  to  James,  and  was 
much  employed  by  him  as  an  emissary  to  his  adherents  in 
England. 2  "In  the  beginning  of  March,"  1694,^  Floyd,  by 
the  direction  of  James,  went  to  England  and  sought  interviews 
with  Eussell,  Shrewsbury,  Godolphin,  and  Churchill.'*  Of 
these  four,  all,  except  Churchill,  held  office  under  William. 
Eussell  was  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty  and  High  Admiral. 
Shrewsbury  had  just  received  from  William  the  seals  of  office 
as  Secretary  of  State,  the  King  saying  as  he  placed  them  in  his 
hands,  "  I  know  you  are  a  man  of  honour,  and  if  you  undertake 
to  serve  me,  you  will  do  so  faithfully :  "  at  the  same  time 
raising  him  to  a  dukedom,  and  conferring  upon  him  the  Garter.^ 
Godolphin  was  First  Lord  of  the  Treasury.  Churchill  alone 
was  out  of  office,  and  in  disgrace,  having  only  just  been  re- 
leased from  a  prison,  in  which  he  had  been  confined  on  a  charge 
notoriously  false,  and  supported  by  the  most  infamous  perjury. 

Churchill  received  Floyd  with  expressions  of  loyalty  and 
attachment  to  James,  and  of  contrition  for  his  conduct  towards 
him.  Beyond  these  general  and  vague  protestations,  Floyd 
obtained  nothing  from  Churchill.  He  derived  no  information 
whatever  from  him.  It  is  important  to  keep  this  fact  in  view 
as  it  throws  light  upon  the  whole  of  Marlborough's  conduct 
with  regard  to  the  exiled  family.  It  must  be  admitted  in  the 
outset  that  his  correspondence  with  the  Court  of  St  Germains 
can  on  no  ground  be  justified.  Marlborough,  even  whilst 
rendering  the  most  important  services  to  that  cause  of  religious 
and  political  freedom,  the  success  of  which  was  dependent  on 
the  stal)ility  of  William's  throne,  unhappily  continued  to  lavisli 
fair  words  and  fallacious  promises  upon  James,  and  his  cliar- 
acter  must  bear  the  stain  of  his  having  done  so. 

'  l\Iacplu'rsoii,  Grip.  Tiip.,  i.  480.  -  Had.,  i.  479. 

3  Ihi.l.,  i.  245.  <  Il.id.,  i.  4S0.  »  .Macaulay,  iv.  505. 


22  TIIK    M'W    "  KXAMEN. 

I''1(»>(1  I  hell  went  to  llnssell,  wlio  received  him  witli  warni 
j)rotostations  of  devotion  to  the  cause  of  tlie  exiled  family, 
hacked  hy  many  oatlis  and  imprecations. 

Shrewshury,  through  liis  niollier  the  Countess,  assured  Floyd 
that  lie  had  only  accepted  ofiice  under  AVilliam,  "  in  order  to 
serve  James  more  effectually  thereafter ! "  But  the  conversa- 
tion with  Godolphin  was  the  most  important.  The  First  Lord 
of  the  Treasury  received  the  emissary  of  James  "  in  the  most 
affectionate  manner  imaginable,"  and  informed  him  "that 
liussell  would  infallibly  appear  before  Brest :  the  land-officers 
being  of  opinion  that  the  place  might  he  insulted  [i.e.,  assaulted], 
although  the  sea-officers  luere  of  a  different  opnnion ;  that  this 
would  give  a  just  pretext  to  his  Most  Christian  Majesty  [Louis]  to 
send  troops  to  that  place."  ^  Floyd  adds,  "  he  reiterated  his 
protestations  with  the  greatest  loyalty  to  your  majesty." 

There  is  evidence  which  fixes  the  date  of  this  conversation 
between  Godolphin  and  Floyd  within  a  very  narrow  compass. 
Floyd,  as  we  have  seen,  went  to  England  at  the  beginning  of 
March.  Immediately  after  giving  the  account  of  liis  conversa- 
tion with  Godolphin,  he  goes  on  to  narrate  one  which  took 
place  with  the  Countess  of  Shrewsbury,  in  which  she  alludes 
to  the  prorogation  of  Parliament  as  a  future  event,  without 
any  expression  from  which  it  can  be  inferred  that  it  was  im- 
mediately to  be  expected.  Parliament  was,  in  fact,  prorogued 
on  the  25th  of  April.  ^  So  that  w^e  have  it  clearly  established 
that  the  conversation  between  Floyd  and  Godolphin  was,  at 
any  rate,  some  time  before  that  day.  Floyd  returned  to 
France,  reported  his  proceedings  to  James  and  the  Earl  of 
Melfort,  by  the  latter  of  whom  his  report  was  translated  into 
French,  and  "carried  to  Versailles  on  the  1st  of  May  1694"' 
Taking  into  account  the  time  thus  occupied,  the  rate  of  travel- 
ling in  those  days,  and  bearing  in  mind  the  conversation  with 
Lady  Shrewsbury,  it  may  fairly  be  inferred  that  Godolpliin's 
information  was  given  to  the  agent  of  James  not  later  than  the 
middle  of  April.  It  unquestionably  reached  Louis  on  the  \st 
of  May. 

^  Macphcrson,  Orig.  Pap.,  i.  483.  2  Gazette. 

'  Macpherson,  i.  480. 


THE    DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH.  23 

Marlborough's  letter,  which  Lord  IMacaulay  treats  as  being 
the  result  of  secret  sources  of  information  to  which  he  alone 
had  access — as  the  first  communication  of  the  design  to  Louis 
— as  the  occasion  of  the  steps  taken  by  the  French  Government 
for  the  fortification  of  Brest — the  cause  of  the  failure  of  the 
expedition,  and  of  the  death  of  Talmash — was  not  written  until 
the  4th  of  May,  three  days  after  Louis  was  in  possession  of  the 
formal  rejwrt,  drawn  up  hy  Melfort  from  Floyd's  narrative,  and. 
weeks  after  Godolphin  had  betrayed  the  ivhole  scheme  to  the 
emissary  of  James. 

Marlborough's  letter  is  not  dated  ;  but  the  compiler  of  the 
'Life  of  James '^  and  Lord  Macaulay  himself^  concur  in 
assigning  the  4th  of  May  as  the  date ;  and  what  appears  to 
show  conclusively  that  they  are  correct  is,  that  Marlborough 
says  "Eussell  sails  to-morroiv."  Russell  did,  in  fact,  sail  on 
the  5th  of  ]\ray,^  Marlborough  says  that  he  had  only  learnt 
the  news  he  sends  on  the  very  day  on  which  he  writes.  If  so, 
Louis  was  in  possession  of  the  intelligence  before  Marlborough. 
It  may  be  said  that  JNlarlborough  was  equally  guilty  in  inten- 
tion— that  Godolphin  had  merely  forestalled  him  in  the  wicked 
act.  That  is  not  the  question  we  are  discussing.  At  present 
we  are  inquiring  whether  Lord  jNIacaulay  has  or  has  not  given 
a  true  account  of  the  transaction.  But  even  this  charge  cannot 
be  maintained.  It  is  far  more  consistent  with  the  fact  of  Marl- 
borough's intimacy  with  Godolphin,  and  with  his  conduct  on 
other  occasions,  to  suppose  that  he  was  acquainted  with  the 
design  upon  Brest,  but  concealed  it  until  he  thought,  as  was 
the  fact,  that  revealing  it  could  do  no  harm.  lie  might  well 
suppose  that  information  conveyed  only  the  day  before  Russell 
sailed  would  be  of  no  service.  The  fact  is,  that  the  letter  of 
Marlborough  was  perfectly  harmless.  The  French  Court  had 
long  before  been  informed,  not  only  by  Godolphin,  but  also  by 
Lord  Arran,^  of  the  design  upon  Brest.  They  had  taken  pre- 
cautions to  fortify  the  place,  and  it  was  perfectly  veil  knotcn  to 
William  and  to  Talmash  that  they  had  done  so. 

William,  ^vriting  to  Shrewsbury  on  the  1 8th  of  June,  after 

1  Clarke,  ii.  522.  '-  Vol.  vii.  134,  edit.  IS^S  ;  vidr  ante,  p.  16. 

2  Gazette.  *  Life  of  James,  ii.  523. 


24  Tin;  nkw  "  kxamen." 

till-  Ciiilinc  of  lli(!  attciiipt,  says  :  "  You  may  easily  conceive  my 
vexation  when  I  lioard  tlie  repulse  our  troops  had  experienced 
in  the  descent  near  Brest ;  and  although  the  loss  is  very  in- 
considerable, yet  in  war  it  is  always  mortifying  to  undertake 
auythini,'  that  docs  not  succeed ;  and  I  oicn  to  you  that  I  did 
not  sujyposc  they  wo^dd  have  'made  the  attempt  vnthout  having 
ivell  reconnoitred  the  situation  of  the  enemy  to  receive  them  ; 
since  they  were  long  apprised  of  our  intended  attack,  and  made 
active  preparations  for  defence ;  for  what  was  practicable  two 
niontJis  ago  v:as  no  longer  so  at  present."  ^ 

Shrewsbury,  in  reply,  says :  "I  was  never  so  entirely 
satisfied  with  the  design  upon  Brest  as  to  be  surprised  at  its 
miscarrying,  especially  since  the  enemy  had  so  much  warning  to 
prepare  for  their  defence.  But  I  always  concluded  it  was  not 
to  be  attempted,  in  case  their  preparations  had  made  it  so  im- 
practicable as  it  is  related  now  to  appear  to  those  who  viewed 
it  from  the  ships,  but  that  then  they  had  full  power  to  try 
what  could  be  done  on  any  other  part  of  the  coast  they  should 
find  more  feasible,  though  the  advantage  should  not  altogether 
be  so  considerable  as  seizing  a  post  at  Brest."  ^ 

William,  in  his  next  letter  (which  Lord  ^lacaulay  quotes), 
says :  "  I  am  indeed  extremely  affected  with  the  loss  of  poor 
Talmash  ;  for  although  I  do  not  approve  of  his  conduct,  yet  I 
am  of  opinion  that  his  too  ardent  zeal  to  distinguish  himself 
induced  him  to  attempt  what  was  impracticable."  ^ 

These  letters  distinctly  negative  Lord  Macaulay's  assertion 
that  the  leaders  of  the  attack  upon  Brest  were  "  not  aware 
that  the  design  had  been  long  known  at  A^ersailles. "  *  It  is 
impossible  that  William  could  have  written  the  letters  we  have 
quoted — that  he  could  have  used  such  expressions  as  that  the 
enemy  had  been  "  long  apprised  of  the  intended  attack" — that 

^Coxc's  Slirewsburj-  Corrcspondeuce,  45.  "  Ibid.,  44,  45,  46. 

'  It  is  remarkable  that  Lord  Macaulay  appears  to  be  incapable  of  transcribing 
con-ectly.  He  quotes  the  above  letter  thus  :  "  The  poorfelloir's  fate  has  afiFected 
me  much.  I  do  not,  indeed,  think  he  managed  well;  but  it  was  his  ardent 
desire  to  distinguish  himself  that  impelled  him  to  attempt  impossibilities." 
"William's  letter  is  better  English,  and  in  better  taste.  Such  colloquialisms  as 
"  i>oor  fellow"  belong  to  the  free-and-easy  school  of  the  nineteenth  centurj'. 

*  r.  510,  vol.  iv.  8vo. 


THE    DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH.  25 

the  plan  was  practicable  "  two  months  ago  " — that  he  could 
have  commented  as  he  did  upon  the  conduct  of  Talmash — if, 
as  Lord  Macaulay  asserts,  Talmash  had  been  led  into  a  snare, 
or  if  the  fiist  information  had  been  conveyed  to  the  French 
Court  by  a  letter  written  on  the  4th  of  May,  the  day  before 
Talmash  set  out  on  the  expedition.  On  the  contrary,  William 
treats  Talmash  throughout  as  having  braved  a  danger  which 
he  knew,  and  which  he  ought  not  to  have  encountered  without 
further  precautions. 

Nor  is  this  all.  Burchett,  the  authority  to  whom  Lord 
Macaulay  refers,  narrates  with  great  particularity  the  attack 
upon  Camaret  Bay  ;  observes  upon  the  "  early  advice  "  which 
had  been  given  to  the  French  of  the  intended  attack ;  and  uses 
no  expression  whatever  from  which  it  can  be  inferred  that 
there  was  any  surprise  in  the  matter.  Lord  Caermarthen,  in 
his  '  Journal,'  ^  states  that  they  found  the  place  stronger  than 
they  had  anticipated,  and  describes  the  precautions  advised  by 
Cutts  and  neglected  by  Talmash  ;  but  he  never  intimates  that 
there  was  any  suspicion  of  treachery  or  "  snare."  Lord  Caer- 
marthen also  gives  an  account  of  the  death  of  Talmash,  but  is 
altogether  silent  as  to  the  exclamation  which  Lord  Macaulay 
asserts  the  dying  general  made  "  with  his  last  breath,  that  he 
had  been  lured  into  a  snare  by  treachery." 

Lord  Macaulay  appears  to  have  derived  his  account  of  the 
death  of  Talmash  from  Oldmixon,  of  whom  he  elsewhere  says 
that  "  it  is  notorious  that  of  all  our  historians  he  is  the  least 
trustworthy."  ^ 

All  the  other  accounts  (as  far  as  we  are  aware)  simply  state 
that  Talmash  died  like  a  gallant  soldier  (as  he  undoubtedly 
was),  "more  concerned  for  the  ill  success  of  the  action  than  for 
the  loss  of  his  own  life." '  Oldmixon  goes  into  more  minute 
particulars,  on  what  authority  it  does  not  appear ;  but  though 
Lord  Macaulay  seems  to  have  derived  his  account  from  Old- 
mixon, the  account  given  by  that  historian  directly  negatives 
Lord  ^lacaulay's  charge  against  jNIarlborough. 

Waiving  for  the  present  tlie  question  of  how  far  Oldmixon 

1  P.  11,  14,  15.  -  Vol.  ii.  240,  edit.  1858. 

3  Ralph,  ii.  504. 


'20  TiiK  NKW  "kxamf:n. 

is  oulitlcMl  to  credit,  Ivl  us  .see  what  his  account  is.  "The 
brave  general,  Talmasli,"  he  says,  "  was  mortally  wounded  ; 
and  beinr^  conveyed  to  Plymouth,  died  there  a  few  days  after. 
It  is  certain  he  believed  himself  betrayed.  His  last  words  were 
very  remarkable,  and  prove  beyond  all  question  the  correspond- 
ence the  French  had  witli  soine  of  King  William's  council.  'I 
die  contented,'  said  he,  '  having  done  my  duty  in  the  service 
of  a  good  prince  ;  but  I  am  very  sorry  the  Government  is 
betrayed.'  He  knew  who  were  the  traitors,  and  named  them 
to  a  person  who  stood  at  his  bedside,  that  he  might  dis- 
cover them  to  Queen  Mary  in  his  Majesty's  absence,  that  she 
might  be  upon  her  guard  against  those  pernicious  counsellors 
who  had  retarded  the  descent,  and  by  that  means  given  France 
time  so  to  fortify  Brest  as  to  render  all  approaches  to  it 
im  practical  >le."  ^ 

Now,  if  this  account  is  true,  those  to  whose  correspondence 
with  France  Talmash  referred  were  "  of  King  William's  coim- 
cil,"  which  Marlborough  was  not.  The  traitors  whom  he  "  knew 
and  named "  to  the  nameless  person  who  "  stood  by  his  bed- 
side," were  "  pernicious  counsellors,"  who  had  access  to  the 
Queen,  which  Marlborough  had  not.  They  were  persons  who 
had  "  retarded  the  descent,  and  by  that  means  given  France 
time  to  fortify  Brest."  This  Marlborough  never  had  the 
power  to  do,  nor  has  Lord  JNIacaulay  accused  him  of  doing 
it.  It  is  clear,  therefore,  that  if  Talmash  did,  as  Lord  ^lac- 
aulay  asserts,  "  exclaim  with  his  last  breath  that  he  had 
been  lured  into  a  snare  by  treachery,"  he  also  declared  that 
the  treason  was  perpetrated  by  some  person  who  by  no 
possibility  could  be  ^Marlborough — possibly  Godolphin,  pos- 
sibly Shrewsbury,  possibly  both,  but  clearly  and  distinctly 
not  ^Marlborough. 

It  is  stated  in  the  Life  of  William,  published  immediately 
after  his  death,  and  about  eight  years  after  these  events  had 
taken  place,  that  it  was  common  talk  at  London  and  elsewhere, 
long  before  the  feet  ivent  out,  that  the  design  was  upon  Brest, 
and  that  the  French  themselves  were  so  sensible  of  it  that  they 
took  all  the  prcoautioiis  imaginable,  by  j^lanting  batteries,  making 

^  Oldmixon,  iii.  92. 


THE   DUKE   OF   MARLBOROUGH.  27 

intrenchments,  and  bringing  niimcrous  hodies  of  regular  troops 
to  defend  themselves  against  the  impending  danger."  ^ 

Ealph,  referring  to  Boyer,  states  that  it  was  town-talk  in 
Loudon  some  months  before  it  "  was  put  in  execution."^  Ken- 
net  3  uses  the  same  expression,  and  adds  that  "  it  is  certain 
that  the  French  had  time  to  provide  themselves  against  the 
design."  Oldmixon  quotes  and  confirms  Kennet.^  Luttrell, 
in  giving  an  account  of  the  despatch  which  brought  the  tidings 
of  the  defeat,  says  :  "  The  French  certainly  knew  of  our  design, 
having  about  10,000  foot  and  4000  horse  of  veteran  soldiers 
encamped  there  ever  since  the  22d  of  April,  and  10,000  militia 
within  the  town,  Vauban,  the  engineer,  was  also  there,  and 
fortified  every  pass."  ^  Here,  then,  we  have  the  united  testi- 
mony of  contemporary  historians — of  Floyd,  of  Shrewsbury,  of 
James,  and  of  William — that  the  design  upon  Brest  had  been 
long  known  to  the  French  Court ;  that  the  precautions  taken 
in  consequence  by  the  Government  of  that  country  were  known 
to  the  English  Government ;  that  it  was  town-talk  in  London, 
long  before  the  fleet  sailed,  that  Brest  was  their  destination. 
We  have  Godolphin's  communication  to  Floyd  in  April,  Lord 
Arran's  to  James  some  time  before;  we  have  the  1st  of  May 
distinctly  fixed  as  the  date  of  a  formal  communication  to 
Louis;  we  have  the  fact  of  troops  being  assembled  in  April — 
of  the  fortification  of  Brest,  not  hurried  and  imperfect,  but 
performed  with  skill,  deliberation,  and  completeness ;  we  find 
Lord  Macaulay  citing  the  very  authorities  upon  whose  pages 
these  facts  appear,  the  very  papers  and  letters  in  which  the 
details  are  given,  and  yet  deliberately  asserting  that  the  secret 
was  faithfully  kept  until  IMarlborough,  through  some  private 
channels,  discovered  it  on  the  4th  of  May,  the  very  day  before 
the  fleet  sailed,  and  "instantly"  revealed  it  to  James,  and  that 
the  failure  of  the  expedition  and  the  death  of  Talmash  M'crc 
consequent  upon  the  information  thus  conveyed  ! 

It  must  be  admitted  that  in  no  view  of  the  case  can  the 

'  liifc  of  Willitini,  Anon,,  1703,  second  edition,  378. 

■■^  Iviilph,  ii.  fiOl,  citing  Boyer,  Life  of  Kinj,'  ■\Villiain,  ii.  300. 

3  Vol.  iii.  664.  •*  Oldmixon,  iii.  5)2. 

6  Luttrell's  Diary,  iii.  32S;  Jnne  14,  1694. 


28  TMl':    NKW    "  KXAMKN. 

comluct  of  Marlborouj,'h  in  tliis  transaction  be  justified.  I5ut 
liis  onVncc  soonis  ratlier  to  liavcbccai  agfiinst  JaiiMj.s,  in  .socking 
credit  for  a  service  of  no  value,  than  against  William  ;  and  we 
ought  not,  perhaps,  to  weigli  too  nicely  the  conduct  of  a  man 
in  those  doul)le-dealing  times  whose  head  was  in  peril  between 
two  equally  implacable  sovereigns.  It  must  be  remembered, 
too,  that  at  this  time  a  large  proportion  of  the  people  of  Eng- 
land still  considered  James  as  their  rightful  sovereign  ;  that 
the  Dutch  troops  of  William  were  looked  upon  by  many  in 
the  light  of  enemies,  as  much  as  the  French  troops  of  Louis. 
The  con-espondence  of  Marlborough  with  James  must  therefore 
be  regarded  as  an  offence  of  a  very  different  character  from 
what  it  would  have  been  had  it  been  carried  on  with  a  foreign 
potentate,  or  had  Marlborough,  like  Eussell,  Shrewsbury,  and 
Godolphin,  held  office  and  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  William. 
Prizing  as  we  do  the  benefits  conferred  upon  us  by  the  Kevo- 
lution,  we  are  apt  to  forget  in  how  different  a  light  from  that 
in  which  we  look  upon  William,  he  was  regarded  by  those  who 
had  seen  him  only  a  few  years  before  placed  on  the  throne,  in 
compliance,  it  is  true,  with  religious  and  political  necessity, 
but  no  less  truly  by  means  of  treachery  and  falsehood,  from 
the  stains  of  wliich,  unhappily,  Marlborough  himself  was  not 
free. 

Our  present  task,  however,  is  not  to  determine  the  very 
difficult  question  of  what  amount  of  blame  is  justly  to  be 
awarded  to  Marlborough,  but  to  examine  how  far  confidence 
can  be  placed  in  even  the  most  specific  and  deliberate  state- 
ments of  Lord  ^Licaulay.  Nothing  can  exceed  in  minuteness 
of  detail  and  positiveness  of  assertion  this  particular  charge 
against  INIarlborough.  Nothing  can  exceed  its  gravity  and 
impoiiance.  At  the  same  time  it  is  difficult  to  say  whether  it 
excels  most  in  the  suggestio  falsi  or  in  the  supprcssio  vert.  It 
is  not  true  that  it  was  by  means  of  ^Marlborough's  information 
that  the  French  Government  were  enabled  to  fortify  Brest ; 
it  is  not  true  that  Talmash  M-as  lured  into  a  snare ;  it  is  not 
true  that  he  and  Berkeley  were  in  ignorance  that  the  design 
upon  Brest  was  known  at  Versailles,  and  that  steps  had  been 
taken  for  defence  ;  it  is  not  true  that  ]\Iailborough  was  the 


THE    DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH.  29 

cause  of  the  failure  of  the  expedition ;  and  it  is  a  monstrous 
and  a  foul  calumny  that  jVIarlborough  was  the  "  murderer  "  of 
Talmash.  The  instances  of  suirprcssio  vcri  are  almost  as  re- 
markable. The  treachery  of  Shrewsbuiy  is  suppressed ;  the 
treachery  of  Godolphin  is  suppressed.  The  reader  would  never 
discover  from  Lord  Macaulay's  narrative  that  eitlier  of  them 
had  anything  whatever  to  do  with  the  transaction.  Floyd's 
intelligence  is  suppressed ;  Lord  Arran's  information  is  sup- 
pressed ;  Melfort's  communication  to  Louis  is  suppressed ;  the 
fact  of  the  fortification  of  Brest  in  April  is  suppressed  ;  the 
correspondence  between  William  and  Shrewsbury  is  garbled ; 
and  the  dying  words  of  Talmash,  which  afford  the  clearest 
proof  of  the  innocence,  in  his  estimation,  of  Marlborough,  are 
distorted  into  evidence  of  his  guilt ! 

We  would  willingly  suppose  that  Lord  Macaulay  had  been 
misled  by  other  historians,  who  might  have  been  biassed  by 
the  party  feelings  of  the  day.  But  this  unhappily  is  impos- 
sible. He  quotes  and  refers  to  the  very  documents  we  have 
laid  before  the  reader — the  very  documents  that  disprove  his 
assertions.  The  evidence  was  in  his  hands  which  proves 
incontestably  that  James  was  in  possession  of  the  information 
in  April  ;  that  Godolphin  had  communicated  it  to  Floyd 
during  that  month,  and  that  Louis  was  in  possession  of  it 
certainly  not  later  than  the  1st  of  May ;  that  it  was  known 
to  the  English  Court  that  the  French  King  was  aware  of  their 
intentions,  and  that  precautions  had  been  taken  for  the  protec- 
tion of  Brest.  Yet  Lord  Macaulay  persists,  year  after  year, 
and  edition  after  edition,  in  reiterating  this  monstrous  accusa- 
tion— designates  this  as  "  the  foulest  of  treasons,"  "  the  basest 
of  the  hundred  villanies  of  Marlborough,"  and  showers  down 
upon  him  such  appellations  as  "  traitor,"  "  criminal,"  and 
"  murderer." 

We  have  been  amongst  those  who  have  shared  most  deeply 
in  the  universal  admiration  due  to  the  genius  and  eloquence 
of  Lord  iMacaulay.  In  his  own  department  we  still  regard 
him  as  unrivalled.  He  is  beyond  comparison  the  greatest 
master  of  brilliant  and  unscrupulous  historical  fiction  that  has 
ever  adorned   the   language   of  England.      It   is   impossible 


•M)  THK    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

iur  uny  Miiglisliniaii— it  is  impossible  lor  any  honest  man,  to 
rise  from  a  perusal  of  this  attack  upon  Marlborough,  anrl  an 
examination  of  the  evidence  upon  which  it  rests,  without 
feelings  of  the  deepest  indignation. 

Here,  for  the  present,  we  pause.  We  have  done  enough  to 
put  the  reader  upon  his  guard  as  to  liow  he  accepts  even  the 
most  confident  and  positive  assertions  of  Lord  ^lacaulay,  and 
to  show  the  kind  of  services  to  history  which  have  been 
deemed  wortliy  of  being  rewarded  by  a  peerage. 

The  mischief  done  is  incalculable.  Proljably  no  book  that 
has  issued  from  the  press  of  tliis  country  since  the  Waverley 
Novels,  has  had  so  universal  a  circulation  as  Lord  Macaulay's 
History. 

The  poison  has  spread  far  and  wide.  It  has  entered  into 
and  corrupted  the  life-blood  of  modem  literature.  Lord 
Macaulay  has  proclaimed  to  the  whole  civilised  world,  in 
tones  which  reach  its  remotest  corners,  that  the  first  of  Eng- 
land's military  commanders,  one  of  the  greatest  of  her  states- 
men and  diplomatists — the  man  who,  at  a  period  of  peril  to  our 
religious  and  political  freedom,  wielded  more  than  sovereign 
power,  and  to  whom  we  owe  more  perhaps  than  to  any  other 
man  the  blessings  we  most  prize — was  a  "  prodigy  of  turpi- 
tude ; "  ^  that  he  was  stained  with  every  vice  that  most  degrades 
humanity  ;  that  he  was  a  miser,  a  profligate,  a  cheat,  a  traitor, 
and  a  murderer.  Lord  Macaulay — we  say  it  deliberately — has 
stated  this,  having  before  him  and  referring  to  the  very  docu- 
ments which  prove  the  falsehood  of  these  charges.  The  anti- 
dote to  this  poison  may  work  slowly,  but  it  will  work  surely. 
Many  years  may  elapse  before  the  still  small  voice  of  truth 
can  be  distinctly  heard  above  the  torrent  of  eloquent  declamation 
and  the  din  of  popular  applause.  Lord  ^Macaulay,  probably  for 
his  life,  may  enjoy  the  triumph  of  having  successfully  held  up 
the  greatest  of  English  generals  to  the  contempt  and  execra- 
tion of  the  world.  But  the  hour  of  retribution,  though  it  may 
be  distant,  is  certain.  Reputations  such  as  that  of  ^Marlborough 
cannot  die,  and  the  avenging  spirit  lives  and  breathes  in  thou- 
sands of  manly  and  honest  hearts.     Even  now  we  hear  on  all 

'  Vol.  ii.  515,  edit.  1S58. 


THE    DUKE    OF    MARLBOROUGH.  31 

sides  murmurs  which  grow  deeper  and  louder  each  succeeding 
year,  which  shape  and  syllable  themselves  into  the  expression 
of  a  growing  belief,  gradually  finding  utterance  from  the  lips 
of  men  who  read  and  think,  that  wherever  party  interests  or 
personal  predilections  or  aversions  interfere.  Lord  Macaulay  is 
not  to  be  trusted  either  to  narrate  facts  accurately,  to  state 
evidence  truly,  or  to  award  the  judgment  of  History  with 
impartiality. 


32 


II. 

LORD    MACAULAY    AND    THE    MASSACRE   OF    GLENCOE.^ 

Our  last  number  contained  some  remarks  on  the  freedom  of 
hand  with  which  Lord  Macaulay  flings  the  darkest  colours  on 
his  canvas,  in  his  portrait  of  England's  most  famous  Whig 
general.  We  propose,  in  the  following  pages,  to  show  with  how 
light  a  touch  he  can  spread  a  sparkling  and  transparent  glaze 
over  the  most  repulsive  features  of  the  great  Whig  king. 

There  is  a  popular  superstition,  that  the  blood  of  a  murdered 
man  impresses  an  indelible  mark  on  the  spot  where  it  falls. 
The  stains  on  the  staircase  at  Holyrood  and  the  floor  of  the 
dressing-room  at  Staunton  Harold  are  still  pointed  out  to  hun- 
dreds of  half-believing  gazers.  There  is  a  moral  truth  at  the 
foundation  of  this  belief.  The  place  in  which  a  great  crime 
has  been  committed  can  never  be  seen  or  named  without  calling 
up  the  memory  of  that  crime.  The  mean  purposes  to  which 
they  have  been  applied  cannot  efi'ace  the  association  which 
unites  the  nanies  of  Smithfield,  and  of  tlie  market-place  of 
Rouen,  in  our  minds  with  the  martyrs  of  religion  and  patriot- 
ism ;  and  no  time  can  disconnect  the  name  of  Glencoe  from 
the  memory  of  an  outrage  so  revolting,  that,  after  the  lapse  of 
a  century  and  a  half,  the  blood  curdles  at  it  as  if  it  were  a  deed 
of  yesterday. 

The  story  of  the  slaughter  of  M'lan  of  Glencoe  and  his  tribe, 
often  as  it  has  been  repeated,  never  palls  in  interest.  It  has 
lately  been  told  by  the  greatest  word-painter  of  the  age,  whose 
steps  it  woidd  be  presumption  to  follow,  and  from  whom  quota- 
tion is  needless,  as  every  one  is  familiar  with  his  eloquent  nar- 
rative.    Were  that  narrative  as  trustworthy  as  it  is  eloquent, 

^  niaok  wood's  Magnzine,  July  1859. 


THE    MASSACRE    OF    GLENCOE.  o3 

we  should  only  have  the  pleasant  duty  of  joining  in  the  general 
tribute  of  applause,  instead  of  asking  our  readers  to  follow  us 
through  the  comparatively  dry  details  which  appear  to  us 
necessary  to  place  tlie  actors  in  that  tragedy  in  their  true 
light. 

We  have  read  Lord  Macaulay's  account  of  the  Massacre  of 
Glencoe  over  and  over  again,  each  time  with  increased  admira- 
tion of  the  marvellous  variety  of  his  powers.  The  most  skilful 
advocate  never  framed  an  argument  so  subtle  to  avert  punish- 
ment from  the  guilty,  no  labyrinth  constructed  to  conceal  the 
evidence  of  crime  ever  was  so  intricate,  as  the  story  which  Lord 
Macaulay  has  woven  to  shield  William  from  the  obloquy  which 
attaches  to  his  name  for  his  share  in  that  dark  transaction. 
The  mind  is  insensibly  drawn  away  from  the  issue ;  indigna- 
tion is  aroused,  to  be  directed  successively  at  one  subordinate 
agent  after  another,  until  the  great  and  principal  offender  has 
time  to  escape,  and  the  full  torrent  of  invective  bursts  on  the 
guilty  and  miserable  head  of  one  accomplice. 

It  is  essential  to  a  correct  judgment  upon  the  case  to  under- 
stand distinctly  the  relation  in  which  the  Glencoe  men  stood 
to  the  Government  of  William.  The  terms  rebels,  marauders, 
thieves,  banditti,  murderers,  have  been  so  freely  and  so  fraudu- 
lently used  by  historians  and  political  partisans,  from  the  close 
of  the  seventeenth  century  down  even  to  our  own  day,  and 
such  is  the  effect  of  positive,  reckless,  and  often-repeated  asser- 
tion, that  some  of  our  readers  may  be  disposed  to  smile  incred- 
ulously when  we  state,  as  we  do  most  positively,  that  none 
of  these  terms  are  justly  applicable  to  the  Macdonalds  of  Glen- 
coe at  the  time  of  the  massacre. 

In  the  summer  of  1691,  the  war  which  was  being  vigorously 
carried  on  in  Ireland  was  smouldering  but  not  extinguished  in 
Scotland.  The  clans  remained  faithful  to  James,  but  a  year 
had  elapsed  since  they  had  made  any  overt  demonstration  in 
his  favour.  Colonel  Hill,  who  connnanded  William's  garrison 
at  Inverlochy,  writing  on  the  15th  of  May  1091,  says:  "The 
people  hereabouts  have  robbed  none  all  this  M'inter,  but  have 
been  very  peaceable  and  civil."  ^     Ou  the  3d  of  June  he  writes 

1  Hill  to  Melville,  Hit^lilaml  Pai-crs,  Maitlaiid  Chili,  11. 
C 


// 


34  THK    NKVV    "  FIXAMEN. 

1(1  the  Miul  of  Melville :  "  We  are  at  present  as  peaceaLle  horo- 
nboiit.s  as  ever." '  On  Hh!  20th  of  July  the  Privy  Council 
report  that  "the  Highland  reljels  have  of  late  been  very  peace- 
able, acting  no  hostilities."  ^  On  the  22d  of  August,  Colonel 
Hill  writes  from  Fort  William  to  Lord  Itaith:  "This  acquaints 
your  Lordship  that  we  are  here  still  in  the  same  peaceable  con- 
dition that  we  have  been  for  more  than  a  year  past."  ^  The 
chiefs,  indeed,  only  awaited  the  arrival  of  permission  from 
St  Germains  to  enable  them  to  lay  down  their  arms  without 
blemish  to  their  honour  or  taint  upon  their  fidelity. 

On  the  30th  of  June  a  suspension  of  arras  was  agreed  upon, 
and  a  truce  was  entered  into  in  the  following  terms,  between 
the  commander  of  the  forces  of  James,  and  the  Earl  of  Breadal- 
bane  on  behalf  of  William  : — 

"  We,  Major  -  General  Buchan,  Brigadier,  and  Sir  Geo. 
Barclay,  general  officers  of  King  James  the  Seventh  his  forces 
within  the  kingdom  of  Scotland,  to  testifie  our  aversion  of 
shedding  Christian  blood,  and  y*  we  design  to  appear  good 
Scotsmen,  and  to  w^ish  y*  this  nation  may  be  restored  to 
its  wonted  and  happy  peace,  doe  agree  and  consent  to  a  fore- 
bearance  of  all  acts  of  hostilitie  and  depreda"  to  be  committed 
upon  the  subjects  of  this  nation  or  England,  until  the  first  day 
of  October  next ;  providing  that  there  be  no  acts  of  hostility 
or  depreda"*  committed  upon  any  of  the  King's  subjects,  who 
have  been  or  are  engaged  in  his  service,  under  our  command, 
either  by  sea  or  land ;  we  having  given  all  necessary  orders  to 
such  as  are  under  our  command  to  forbear  acts  of  hostility,  by 
sea  or  laud,  untill  the  afors*^  tyme. — Subscribed  at  Achallader 
y«  30th  June  1G9L 

"Whereas  the  chieftains  of  clans  have  given  bonds  not  to 
commit  acts  of  hostility  or  depreda**  before  the  first  day  of 
October  next,  upon  the  conditions  contained  in  the  afs*^  bonds ; 
and  in  regard  that  the  officers  sent  by  King  James  to  command 
the  s^  chieftains  have  by  one  unanimous  consent  in  their  council 
of  war  agreed  to  the  s**  forbearance :  Therefore  I,  as  having 

'  Leven  and  Melville  Papere,  617;  Highland  Papers,  14,  16. 

*  Ibid.  ;   Iligliland  Papers,  25. 

3  Ibid.,  648;  Higliland  Pnpers,  .32. 


THE   MASSACRE   OF   GLENCOE.  35 

warrant  from  King  William  and  Queen  Mary  to  treat  with  the 
forsaid  Highlanders  concerning  the  peace  of  the  kingdom,  doe 
hereby  certify  y*  the  s*^  officers  and  chieftains  have  signed 
a  forbearance  of  acts  of  hostilitie  and  depreda"  till  the  first  of 
October  next.  Wherefore  it's  most  necessary,  just,  and  reason- 
able, y*  noe  acts  of  hostility  by  sea  or  land  or  depreda''  be  com- 
mitted upon  the  s'^  officers,  or  any  of  their  party  whom  they 
doe  command,  or  upon  the  chieftains,  or  their  kinsmen,  friends, 
tennents,  or  followers,  till  the  for'^  first  day  of  October. — Sub- 
scribed at  Achallader  the  30th  day  of  June  1691. — Bkaidal- 

BINE."  ^ 

This  document  is  conclusive  that  those  who  were  in  arms  for 
James  in  Scotland  were  legitimate  belligerents,  enemies  who 
might  lawfully  be  shot  down  in  battle,  but  who  might  treat 
and  be  treated  with,  and  who  were  entitled  to  all  those  rights 
which  the  laws  of  nations  award  to  an  enemy. 

The  treaty  of  Limerick  was  signed  on  the  3d  of  October  in 
the  same  year.  It  will  be  admitted  by  every  one,  that  to  have 
shot  or  hanged  Sarsfield  as  a  rebel  would  have  been  an  outrage 
as  much  on  the  laws  of  war  as  on  those  of  humanity.  It  has 
served  the  interest  of  those  who  desired  to  shield  the  perpetra- 
tors of  an  infiimous  crime  from  opprobrium  to  call  ^Macdonald 
of  Glencoe  a  rebel.  He  was  as  much  a  rebel  as  Sarsfield  was, 
and  no  more ;  in  both  cases  the  distinction  is  broad  and  clear 
— so  broad  and  clear,  that  we  should  have  supposed  it  im- 
possible for  any  one  honestly  to  be  blind  to  it.  Neither  Sars- 
field nor  Glencoe  had  ever  owned  the  authority  of  William. 
As  long  as  James  was  in  arms  to  defend  his  crown,  as  long  as 
subjects  who  had  never  owned  any  other  allegiance  flocked 
round  his  standard,  so  long  were  those  subjects  entitled  to 
all  the  rights  which  the  laws  of  war  concede  to  enemies. 

Contemporaneously  with  the  signature  of  the  treaty  we  have 
referred  to,  negotiations  for  a  permanent  pacification  were  going 
on.  Colonel  Hill,  in  one  of  the  letters  we  have  already  quoted, 
says :  "  The  Appin  and  Glencoe  men  liave  desired  tliey  may 
go  in  to  my  Lord  Argyle,  because  he  is  their  superior,  and  I 
have  set  tliem  a  sliort  day  to  do  it  in."  "      The  Privy  Council, 

1  Culln.lcii  r.ipors,  ]8.  ^  Lovcii  aiul  Molvilli'  Tupcrs,  607,  .Tunc  1091. 


*36  THE    NRW    "  lOXAMKN." 

ill  Die  next  inoiitli,  icpnii  tli;it  llir;  IIi;,rlil,'inds  liad  of  late 
been  very  [)oac(;ablc  ;  that  many  liad  accejjtcd  tlie  oath  from 
<Juluncl  Hill,  "  iiover  to  rise  in  arms  against  thoir  Majesties 
or  the  Government ; "  ■*  and  that  others  were  living  quietly  and 
peaceably. 

We  have  been  thus  preeise  in  our  statement  of  the  position 
of  the  Highland  adherents  of  James  during  the  summer  and 
autumn  of  1G91,  for  the  purpose  of  showing,  by  the  best  possible 
testimony — that  of  the  civil  and  military  servants  of  William 
— that  there  was  nothing  to  provoke  or  excuse  any  measure  of 
severity;  that  the  war,  though  not  extinguished,  was  suspended, 
and  that  the  conduct  of  the  Highlanders,  considering  the  unset- 
tled state  of  the  country,  was  singularly  peaceful  and  orderly. 

Immediately  after  the  signature  of  the  treaty,  the  Earl  of 
Breadalbane  invited  the  heads  of  the  clans  to  a  meeting  at 
Achallader,  with  the  view  of  arranging  a  final  cessation  of 
hostilities.^  Amongst  others,  Glencoe  was  invited,  and  obeyed 
the  summons.  Lord  INIncaulay  attempts  M'ith  great  ingenuity 
to  depreciate  the  position  held  by  Glencoe  amongst  his  brother 
chiefs.  It  is  true  that  the  fighting  men  who  owned  his  com- 
mand did  not  exceed  one-fourth  of  the  number  of  those  who, 
at  the  summons  of  the  fiery  cross,  liocked  together  to  obey  the 
behests  of  Locheil  or  Glengarry ;  but  he  commanded  half  as 
many  as  Keppoch,  and  a  number  equal  to  the  haughty  chief 
of  Barra,  who  l)oasted  that  he  was  the  fourteenth  Iloderick 
M'Neill  who  had  reigned  in  uninterrupted  succession  from 
father  to  son  over  his  island  kingdom,  and  who  handed  down 
that  patriarchal  sway  to  our  own  time.  ^ 

1  Lcven  and  Melville  Papers,  July  29,  1691. 

2  Achallader  was  a  house  of  the  Earl  of  Breadalhanc,  situate  near  the  north- 
eastern end  of  Loch  TuUich,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  shooting-lodge  of  the 
present  Marquess,  and  of  the  famous  deer-forest  of  the  Black  Mount.  It  was 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake  to  the  present  Inn  of  Inverorau,  a  place  pro- 
bably well  known  to  many  of  our  readei-s. 

^  The  following  document  shows  the  proportionate  strength  of  the  clans  at 
this  time  : — 

"We,  Lord  James  Murray,  Pat.  Stewart  of  BiiUechan,  Sir  John  M 'Lean, 
Sir  Donald  M 'Donald,  Sir  Ewen  Cameron,  Glengarrie,  Benbecula,  Sir  Alex- 
ander M'Lean,  Appin,  Enveray,  Keppoch,  Glencoe,  Strowan,  Calothele,  Lieut- 
Col.  M'(Jregor,  Bara,  Larg,  M'Naughton,  do  hereby  bind  and  oblige  ourselves, 


THE    MASSACRE    OF   GLENCOE.  37 

Much  of  tlic  influence  of  Glencoe  was  due  to  his  personal 
character.  "  He  was  a  person  of  great  integrity,  honour,  good- 
nature, and  courage.  .  .  .  ^luch  loved  by  his  neighbours, 
and  blameless  in  his  conduct."^  Such  is  his  character,  drawn 
by  the  biographer  of  Locheil.  His  personal  prowess,  which  has 
been  celebrated  both  in  prose  and  verse,  added,  no  doubt,  to  the 
consideration  in  which  he  was  held. 

It  is  by  no  means  improbable,  however,  that  amongst  the 
tribe  of  which  he  was  the  head  there  were  some  who  felt  little 
scruple  in  possessing  themselves  of  the  flocks  and  herds  of 
hostile  clans,  and  who,  as  Lord  Macaulay  remarks,  as  little 
thought  themselves  thieves  for  doing  so  as  "  the  Ealeighs  and 
Drakes  considered  themselves  thieves  when  they  divided  the 
cargoes  of  Spanish  galleons."  ^ 

Feuds  had  been  of  frequent  occurrence  between  the  Glencoe 
men  and  the  neighbouring  clansmen  of  Breadalbane.  An 
ancient  antipathy,  deepened  by  political  differences,  existed 
between  the  Macdonalds  and  that  branch  of  the  Campbells. 
Breadalbane,  either  forgetful  for  the  moment  of  the  important 
business  he  had  in  hand,  or,  which  appears  more  probable, 
desirous  to  pick  a  quarrel  and  prevent  an  amicable  settlement 
with  one  whom  he  hoped  to  be  able  to  crush,  if  he  could  find 
a  plausible  excuse  for  doing  so,  reproached  Glencoe  "  about 
some  cows  that  the  Earl  alleged  were  stolen  from  his  men  by 

for  his  Majesty's  service  and  our  own  safeties,  to  meet  at  the 

day   of   Sept.    next,    and    bring   along   with   us  fencible    men,    that   is   to 
say- 
Lord  James  Murray  and  Ballechan, 

Sir  John  M 'Lean,  .  .  .200  Keppoch,  .  .  .  .100 
Sir  Donald  Macdonald,  .  .  200  Lieut. -Col.  M'Gregor,  .  .  100 
Sir  Ewen  Cameron,  .  .  200  Calochele,  ....  50 
Glengarric,    .         .         .         .200     Strowan,        ....       GO 

Benbecula,     ....     200     Bara, 50 

Sir  Alex.  M'Lean,  .         .         .     100     Glencoe,         ....       60 

Appin, 100     M'Naughton,  ...       50 

Enveray,        .         .         .         .100     Larg 50 

But  in  case  any  of  the  rebels  shall  assault  or  attack  any  of  the  above-named 
persons,  lietwixt  the  date  hereof  and  the  first  day  of  rendezvous,  we  do  all 
.solcnmly  promise  to  assist  one  another  to  the  utmost  of  our  power,— as  witness 
these  presents  signed  by  us,  at  the  Castle  of  Blair,  tlie  24th  Aug.  1689." 
(Here  follow  the  signatures.)— Browne's  History  of  tlie  Clans,  ii.  183. 
'  Memoirs  of  Locheil,  321.  *  Vol.  iii.  307. 


38  'I' I  IK    Ni;W    "  EXAM  EN. 

Glencoe'.s  iiiiii."  '  Glencoe  left  Achalladerin  anger,  as  Bread- 
albanc  probably  intended  he  should,  and  returned  with  his  two 
sons  to  his  i)atriarchal  home.  lie  knew  the  malice  of  ]5read- 
albane  ;  but  the  truce  was  not  to  expire  until  October,  and  till 
then,  at  least,  he  and  those  for  whose  safety  he  was  responsible 
were  secure. 

Lord  Macavday,  with  some  philological  assumption,  intro- 
duces his  description  of  the  glen  by  telling  his  readers  that 
"in  the  Gaelic  tongue, '  Glencoe'  signifies  the  Glen  of  Weep- 
ing." It  signifies  no  such  thing.  According  to  the  simplest 
and  most  apparent  derivation,  it  signifies  the  Glen  of  the  Dogs, 
"  con "  being  the  genitive  plural  of  "  cu,"  a  dog.  Had  Lord 
Macaulay's  knowledge  of  Gaelic  been  sufficient  to  tell  him  this, 
he  would  probably  have  urged  it  as  conclusive  proof  of  the  es- 
timation in  which  the  inhabitants  were  held.  But  in  fact  the 
name  signifies  no  more  than  the  Valley  of  the  Conn  or  Cona, 
that  being  the  name  which  the  stream  flowing  through  it  bears 
in  common  with  many  other  rivers  in  Scotland,  derived  either 
from  the  Scotch  fir  or  from  the  common  moss  which  covers  the 
valley,  both  of  which  bear  the  name  of  "  cona."  The  word 
which  signifies  lamentation  or  weeping  is  the  unmanageable 
compound  of  letters  "  caoidh,"  which  probably  would  be  quite 
as  great  an  enigma  to  Lord  Macaulay  as  the  mystical  M.O.A.I. 
was  to  Malvolio. 

His  picture  of  Glencoe  is  painted  with  the  historian's  usual 
brilliancy,  and  his  usual  fidelity.  It  bears  the  same  relation 
to  the  place  itself  as  Mr  Charles  Kean's  scenery  at  the  Princess's 
Theatre  does  to  Harfleur,  Agincourt,  or  Eastcheap.  We  have 
seen  the  glen  in  the  extremes  of  weather :  we  have  been 
drenched  and  scorched  in  it.  We  have  wrung  rivers  out  of 
our  plaid,  and  we  have  knelt  down  to  suck  up  through  parched 
lips  the  tiny  rivulets  that  trickled  over  the  rocks.  We  there- 
fore consider  ourselves  entitled  to  criticise  Lord  Macaulay's 
description. 

^  See  the  very  plain  and  simple  account  given  in  the  depositions  of  John 
and  Alexander  M'lan,  13  State  Trials,  897  j  and  Lord  Macaulay's  picturesque 
paraphrase,  iv.  193. 

'  See  Sir  John  Sinclair's  Statistical  Account  of  Scotland,  i.  4Sj. 


THE   MASSACRE   OF   GLENCOE.  39 

Lord  Macaulay  says  :  "  In  truth,  that  pass  is  the  most 
dreary  and  melancholy  of  all  Scottish  passes — the  very  valley 
of  the  shadow  of  death.  .  .  .  Mile  after  mile  the  traveller 
looks  in  vain  for  the  smoke  of  one  hut,  for  one  human  form 
wrapped  in  a  plaid,  and  listens  in  vain  for  the  bark  of  a  shejj- 
herd's  dog  or  the  bleat  of  a  lamb  :  the  only  sound  that  indicates 
life  is  the  faint  cry  of  a  bird  of  prey  from  some  storm-beaten 
pinnacle  of  rock."  ^  The  reader  must  not  suppose  that  -this 
exaggerated  description  of  the  desolation  of  Glencoe  is  without 
an  object,  or  that  it  is  due  only  to  the  pleasure  which  Lord 
Macaulay  feels  in  soaring  on  the  powerful  wings  of  his  imagi- 
nation. We  shall  presently  see  that  in  the  most  studied  and 
ingenious  manner  he  seeks  to  diminish  the  feeling  of  sympa- 
thy for  the  Macdonalds  by  showing  tliat  they  were  "banditti," 
"  thieves,"  "  robbers,"  "  freebooters,"  "  ruffians,"  "  marauders 
who  in  any  well-governed  country  would  have  been  hanged 
thirty  years  before  ; "  2  and  by  this  means  gradually  to  lead  to 
the  conclusion  that  it  was  the  cruelty  and  treachery  which 
accompanied  the  execution  of  the  order  for  their  "  extirpa- 
tion "  which  constitutes  the  crime,  and  not  the  giving  of  the 
order  itself. 

The  ]\Lacdonalds,  he  infers,  must  have  been  thieves — honest 
men  could  not  have  existed  in  such  a  wilderness  ;  and  accord- 
ingly, in  the  next  page,  he  says  that  "  the  wilderness  itself 
was  valued  on  account  of  the  shelter  which  it  afforded  to  the 
plunderer  and  his  plunder."  ^  Now,  from  the  entrance  to  the 
glen  until  it  expands  as  it  approaches  the  village  of  Inverco 
is  about  six  miles,  and  in  this  distance  there  is  at  least  one 
farmhouse — if  our  memory  serves  us  correctly,  there  are  two, 
and  several  cottages  ;  so  that  if  Lord  Macaulay  looked  in  vain 
for  the  smoke  of  a  hut,  it  must  have  been  because  at  that 
moment  the  fires  were  not  lighted.  As  to  not  hearing  the  bark 
of  a  dog  or  the  bleat  of  a  lamb,  at  our  last  visit  we  were  almost 
deafened  by  both,  for  Glencoe  is  a  sheep-walk  occupied  by  that 
well  -  known  sportsman  and  agriculturist,  ^Ir  Campbell  of 
Monzie,  one  of  whose  deer-forests  it  innnediately  adjoins,  and 
who,  on  the  occasion  we  refer  to,  was  superintending  in  person 

»  Vol.  iv.  191.  2  Vol.  iv.  203,  204,  205.  '  Vol.  iv.  102. 


40  Tin-,    NKW    "  lOXAMKN." 

the  gathering  of  liis  Hocks  IVdiii  the  iiiouiit;iiii9,  preparatory 
to  starting  fur  Falkirk.  At  the  lower  end  (the  scene  of  tlie 
massacre)  the  glen  expands,  and  forms  a  considerahle  plain  of 
arable  and  pasture  land,  where  the  reapers  were  busy  gathering 
ill  the  harvest  in  the  fields  round  the  village,  which  still  stands 
surrounded  by  flourishing  trees  on  the  same  spot  where  it 
stood  in  1 G92,  and  where  it  is  marked  under  the  name  of 
Innercoan  upon  Visscher's  map  of  Scotland,  published  at  Am- 
sterdam in  1700 — pretty  good  proof  that  it  was  not  then  a  very 
inconsiderable  place.  A  mile  or  two  further  on,  Loch  Leven 
glittered  in  the  setting  sun,  round  the  island  burial-place  of 
the  ]\rTans,  where  the  murdered  chieftain  sleeps  with  his 
fathers.  The  chink  of  hammers  sounded  from  the  busy  slate- 
quarries  of  Mr  Stewart  of  Ballachulish,  and  in  the  distance  the 
wood  of  Lettermore  (the  scene  of  another  foul  outrage)  stretched 
forwards  towards  the  broad  waters  of  the  Linnhe  Loch. 

If  Lord  Macaulay  had  said  that  the  Pass  of  Glencoe  excels 
all  others  in  Scotland  in  stern  beauty,  he  would,  as  far  as  our 
knowledge  goes,  have  said  what  was  perfectly  correct ;  but  we 
know  many  passes  far  more  "desolate"  and  "melancholy," 
none  grander,  but  many  "sadder"  and  "more  awful."  The 
pass  from  Loch  Kishorn  to  Applecross  is  more  desolate ;  the 
head  of  Loch  Torridon  is  more  dreary  ;  and  even  Glen  Rosa, 
in  Arran,  is  more  destitute  of  the  signs  of  human  habitation. 
Many  others  will  occur  to  the  mind  of  any  one  whose  steps  have 
wandered  out  of  the  beaten  track  of  Cockney  tourists.  Such 
is  Glencoe  at  the  present  day.  It  was  described  not  long  after 
the  massacre,  by  the  author  of  the  *  Memoirs  of  Sir  Evan  Cam- 
eron of  Lochiel,'  in  the  following  words  : — 

"  The  country  of  Glencoe  is,  as  it  were,  the  mouth  or  inlet 
into  Lochaber  from  the  south,  and  the  inhabitants  are  the  first 
vre  meet  with  that  appeared  unanimously  for  King  James. 
They  are  separated  from  Breadalbane  on  the  south  by  a  large 
desert,  and  from  Lochaber  by  an  arm  of  the  sea  on  the  north  ; 
on  the  east  and  west  it  is  covered  by  high,  rugged,  and  rocky 
mountains,  almost  perpendicular,  rising  like  a  wall  on  each 
side  of  a  hcauti/ul  valley,  where  the  inhabitants  reside."  ^ 
'  JMemoira  of  Lochcil,  Maitlaiul  Cluli,  315. 


THE   MASSACRE   OF   GLENCOE.  41 

Just  midway  between  the  time  of  the  massacre  and  the  pre- 
sent day,  we  have  the  testimony  of  another  perfectly  competent 
witness  to  its  state.  Mrs  Grant  of  Laggan,  at  that  time  a  girl 
of  nineteen,  was  residing  with  her  father,  who  was  barrack- 
master  at  Fort  Augustus.  She  was  distantly  connected  with 
the  family  of  Glencoe  ;  and  the  granddaughters  of  the  chief 
himself  of  that  day,  who  had  been  carried  oil'  to  the  hills  by 
his  nurse  on  the  night  of  the  massacre,  when  he  was  an  infant 
of  two  years  old,  had  been  her  schoolfellows.  She  writes  in 
May  1773,  from  Fort  "William,  speaks  of  an  invitation  she 
had  received  from  her  schoolfellow  to  visit  her  at  Glencoe, 
and  then  proceeds  as  follows  : — 

"  Glencoe  she  has  often  described  to  me  as  very  singular  in 
its  appearance  and  situation  ;— a  glen  so  narrow,  so  warm, 
so  fertile,  so  overhung  by  mountains  which  seem  to  meet  above 
you — with  sides  so  shrubby  and  woody! — the  haunt  of  roes 
and  numberless  small  birds. 

"  They  told  me  it  was  unequalled  for  the  chorus  of  '  wood- 
notes  wild '  that  resounded  from  every  side.  The  sea  is  so 
near  that  its  roar  is  heard,  and  its  productions  abound  ;  it  was 
always  accounted  (for  its  narrow  bounds)  a  place  of  great 
^ilenty  and  security."^ 

Lord  ]\Iacaulay  must  have  seen  this  description,  for  he 
alludes  to  the  letter  in  a  contemptuous  note,^  in  which  he  says 
that  Mrs  Grant's  account  of  the  massacre  is  "  grossly  incor- 
rect," ^  and  that  she  makes  a  mistake  of  two  years  as  to  the 
date.  Mrs  Grant's  account  of  the  massacre  is  just  what  we 
might  expect  from  a  girl  deeply  imbued  with  the  Ossianic 
furor,  writing  from  tradition,  without  even  the  pretence  of 
historical  accuracy.  It  is  curious,  however,  that  Lord  JNIacau- 
lay  imports  into  his  History  the  most  improbable  incident  that 
she  relates — namely,  that  "  the  hereditary  bard  of  the  tribe 
took  his  seat  on  a  rock  which  overhung  the  place  of  slaughter, 
and  poured  forth  a  long  lament  over  his  murdered  bretliren 
and  his  desolate  home."  ■*  IVIrs  Grant's  bard  bears  too  evident 
a  likeness  to  the  gentleman  of  the  same  profession  who  sat 

'  TiCttors  from  tlio  Mountains,  i.  TiO. 

=  Vol.  iv.  213.  »  Ibid.  *  ll.id.,  212. 


42 


TIIK    NHW    "  EXAMEN." 


"  Oil  a  rock,  whoHC  haiiglity  l)row 
Frowns  o'er  old  Conway's  foaming  flood," 

and  cuimiiiUcd  suicide  iu  its  "  roaring  tide,"  to  be  acknowledged 
as  an  historical  personage.  Her  mistake  as  to  time,  which  Lord 
Macaulay  condemns  so  harshly,  is  a  mistake  of  six  weeks — not, 
as  he  asserts,  of  two  years.  She  says  the  massacre  took  place 
during  the  festivities  of  Christmas  :  it  occurred,  in  fact,  on  the 
13th  of  February.  Notwitlistanding  these  inaccuracies,  Mrs 
Grant  is  a  perfectly  good  witness  as  to  what  the  state  of  the 
glen  was  in  her  time  ;  and  any  one  who  visits  it  now,  unless 
he  is  a  Cockney  boxed  up  inside  the  "  Rob  Eoy,"  somnolent 
from  the  effect  of  the  coach  dinner  at  Tyndrum,  or  unaccus- 
tomed potations  of  toddy  at  King's  House,  will  see  much  to 
confirm  the  correctness  of  her  description.  Two  mistakes 
which  are  frequently  made  we  must  guard  him  against.  The 
site  of  the  house  of  Achtriaten,  about  half-way  down  the  glen, 
is  pointed  out  by  some  as  the  scene  of  the  massacre.  Ach- 
triaten himself  was  murdered — not,  however,  in  his  own  house, 
but  in  that  of  his  brother  at  Auchnaiou.^  Others,  better  in- 
formed as  to  the  localities,  state  that  a  ruined  gable,  still 
standing,  formed  part  of  Glencoe's  house :  it  xery  possibly 
occupies  the  same  site  as  the  house  of  the  chief  which  was 
burned  on  the  night  of  the  massacre  ;  but  the  date  and  mono- 
gram upon  a  stone  inserted  under  one  of  the  windows  show 
that  it  was  probably  the  house  of  John  ]Macdonald,  the  eldest 
son  and  successor  of  the  chief,  rebuilt  on  his  return  to  the 
glen  after  his  father's  murder. 


We  copied  the  inscription  faithfully,  as  it  appeared  in  1857. 

^  Report,  21. 


THE    MASSACKE    OF    GLENCOE.  43 

We  must  now  leave  Glencoe  for  the  present  in  his  mountain 
home,  and  Breadalbane  proceeding  with  his  negotiations  with 
the  other  chiefs.  Another  actor  comes  upon  the  stage — the 
Master  of  Stair — according  to  Lord  Macaulay  "  the  most  poli- 
tic, the  most  eloquent,  the  most  powerful  of  Scottish  states- 
men ;  "  1  "  the  original  author  of  the  massacre  ; "  ^  the  "  single 
mind  "  ^  from  whom  all  the  "  numerous  instruments  employed 
iu  the  work  of  death,"  *  "  directly  or  indirectly,  received  their 
impulse ; "  ^  the  "  one  offender  w^ho  towered  high  above  the 
crowd  of  offenders,  pre-eminent  in  parts,  knowledge,  rank,  and 
power  ; "  ^  the  "  one  victim  demanded  by  justice  in  return  for 
many  victims  immolated  by  treachery."^  Such  is  Lord  Mac- 
aulay's  judgment.  We  are  not  about  to  dispute  the  justice  of 
the  sentence  which  consigns  the  Master  of  Stair  to  eternal  ex- 
ecration ;  but  it  is  the  duty  of  the  historian  to  mete  out  with 
an  unsparing  hand  the  judgment  of  posterity  to  all ;  and  it  is 
not  by  heaping  upon  one  head  the  punishment  due  to  many 
that  the  claims  of  justice  are  satisfied. 

It  is  difficult,  in  dealing  with  the  memory  of  a  man  whose 
crimes  excite  such  just  indignation  as  do  those  committed  by 
the  Master  of  Stair,  to  gird  one's  self  up  to  the  duty  of  saying, 
that  of  part  of  that  which  he  has  been  charged  with  he  was 
not  guilty.  Black  as  he  was,  he  was  not  so  black  as  he  has 
been  painted.  Lord  Macaulay  dooms  him  from  the  first  to  be 
the  Demon  of  the  piece.  He  is  the  lago  of  the  tragedy,  "  more 
deep  damned  than  Prince  Lucifer,"  no  "  fiend  in  hell  so  ugly ; " 
and  accordingly,  Lord  Macaulay  omits  every  particle  of  evi- 
dence which  tends  in  the  slightest  degree  to  lighten  the  load 
of  guilt.  It  is  not  pleasant  to  discharge  the  duty  of  devil's 
advocate,  but  we  shall  lay  this  evidence  before  the  reader : 
when  all  is  done,  the  Master  of  Stair  will  remain  quite  black 
enough  to  satisfy  any  moderate  amateur  of  villains. 

Lord  ]\Iacaulay  introduces  him  to  the  reader  iu  the  following 
passage : — 

"  The  Master  of  Stair  was  one  of  the  first  men  of  his  time— a  jurist,  a 
statesman,  a  line  sehohir,  an  elo(j[uent  orator.     His  polished  manners  and 

1  Mac.  iv.  579.  '  Ibid.,  578.  ^  Il.id  ,  .'580. 

Mbid.  ••  n.id.  «lMd.  Ml.id. 


44  TIIK    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

livi'ly  (^mvcrsalioii  were  tlic  <lflif,'ht  of  aristocmtical  HocieticH  ;  ami  none 
wlio  nift  liiiii  in  HUch  Hocietics  would  have  thouglit  it  j)O.H'<ibIe  that  he 
cimlil  hear  the  chief  i)art  in  any  atrocious  crime.  His  political  principlcH 
were  lax,  yet  not  more  lax  than  those  of  most  Scotch  politicians  of  that 
age.  Cruelty  had  never  been  inijiuted  to  him.  Those  who  most  disliked 
him  did  him  the  justice  to  own  that,  where  his  schemes  of  policy  were 
not  concerned,  he  was  a  very  good-natured  man.  There  is  not  the 
slightest  reason  to  believe  that  he  gained  a  single  pound  Scots  by  the 
act  which  has  covered  his  name  with  infamy.  He  had  no  personal 
reason  to  wish  the  Glencoe  men  ill.  There  had  been  no  feud  between 
them  and  his  family.  His  property  lay  in  a  district  where  their  tart^in 
was  never  seen.  Yet  he  hated  them  with  a  hatred  as  fierce  and  implac- 
able as  if  they  had  laid  waste  his  fields,  burned  his  mansion,  murdered 
his  child  in  the  cradle."  .  .  .  (Vol.  iv.  198.) 

"He  was  well  read  in  histor}"^,  and  doubtless  knew  how  great  rulers 
had,  in  his  own  and  other  countries,  dealt  with  such  banditti.  He 
doubtless  knew  with  what  energy  and  what  severity  James  the  Fifth  had 
put  down  the  moss-troopers  of  the  Border ;  how  the  chief  of  Heuderland 
had  been  hung  over  the  gate  of  the  castle  in  which  he  had  prepared  a 
banquet  for  the  king  ;  how  John  Armstrong  and  his  thirty-six  horse- 
men, when  they  came  forth  to  welcome  their  sovereign,  had  scarcely 
been  allowed  time  to  say  a  single  prayer  before  they  were  all  tied  up  and 
turned  off.  Nor  probably  was  the  Secretary  ignorant  of  the  means  by 
which  Sixtus  the  Fifth  had  cleared  the  ecclesiastical  state  of  outlaws. 
The  eulogists  of  that  great  pontiff  tell  lis  that  there  was  one  formidable 
gang  which  could  not  be  dislodged  from  a  stronghold  among  the  Apen- 
nines. Beasts  of  burden  were  therefore  loaded  ^\-ith  poisoned  food  and 
wine,  and  sent  by  a  road  which  ran  close  to  the  fastness.  The  robbers 
sallied  forth,  seized  the  prey,  feasted,  and  died  ;  and  the  pious  old  Pope 
exulted  greatly  when  he  heard  that  the  corpses  of  thirty  ruffians,  who  had 
been  the  terror  of  many  peaceful  villages,  had  been  found  lying  among 
the  mules  and  packages.  The  plans  of  the  Master  of  Stair  were  con- 
ceived in  the  spirit  of  James  and  of  Sixtus  ;  and  the  rebellion  of  the 
mountaineers  furnished  what  seemed  to  be  an  excellent  opportunity  for 
carrying  those  plans  into  effect.  Mere  rebellion,  indeed,  he  could  have 
easily  pardoned.  On  Jacobites,  as  Jacobites,  he  never  showed  any  in- 
clination to  bear  hard.  He  hated  the  Highlanders,  not  as  enemies  of 
this  or  that  dynasty,  but  as  enemies  of  law,  of  industry,  and  of  trade. 
In  his  private  correspondence  he  applied  to  them  the  short  and  terrible 
form  of  words  in  which  the  implac^ible  Roman  pronounced  the  doom  of 
Carthage,  His  project  was  no  less  than  this,  that  the  whole  hill-country 
from  sea  to  sea,  and  the  neighbouring  islands,  should  be  wasted  with  fire 
and  sword  ;  that  the  Camerons,  the  ^lacleans,  and  all  the  branches  of  the 
race  of  Macdonalds,  should  be  rooted  out.  He  therefore  looked  with  no 
friendly  eye  on  schemes  of  reconciliation  ;  and,  while  others  were  hoping 
that  a  little  money  would  set  everything  right,  hinted  very  intelligibly 


THE    MASSACRE    OF    OLENCOE.  45 

his  opinion,  that  wluitever  money  was  to  be  laid  out  on  the  clans  would 
be  best  laid  out  in  the  form  of  bullets  and  bayonets.  To  the  last 
moment  he  continued  to  iiatter  himself  that  the  rebels  would  be  ob- 
stinate, and  would  thus  furnish  him  with  a  plea  for  accomplishing  that 
great  social  revolution  on  which  his  heart  was  set.  The  letter  is  .still 
extant  in  which  he  directed  the  commander  of  the  forces  in  Scotland  how 
to  act,  if  the  Jacobite  chiefs  should  not  come  in  before  the  end  of 
December.  There  is  something  strangely  terrible  in  the  calmness  and 
conciseness  with  which  the  instructions  were  given.  *  Your  troops  will 
destroy  entirely  the  country  of  Lochaber,  Lochiel's  lands,  Kepi)ocli's, 
Glengarry's,  and  Glencoe's.  Your  power  shall  be  large  enough.  I  hope 
the  soldiers  will  not  trouble  the  Government  with  prisoners.' "  • — (Vol. 
iv.  202.) 

"  His  design  was  to  butcher  the  whole  race  of  thieves — the  whole 
damnable  race.  Such  was  the  language  in  which  his  hatred  vented 
itself.  lie  studied  the  geography  of  the  wild  country  which  suiTOunded 
Glencoe,  and  made  his  arrangements  with  infernal  skill.  If  possible,  the 
l)low  must  be  quick  and  crushing,  and  altogether  unexpected.  But  if 
Maclan  should  apprehend  danger,  and  should  attempt  to  take  refuge  in 
the  territories  of  his  neighbours,  he  must  find  every  road  barred.  The 
pass  of  Rannoch  must  be  secured.  The  Laird  of  Weerns,  who  was  power- 
ful in  Strath  Tay,  must  be  told  that,  if  he  harbours  the  outlaws,  he  does  so 
at  his  peril.  Breadalbane  promised  to  cut  olf  the  retreat  of  the  fugitives 
on  one  side,  MacCallum  More  on  anc^ther.  It  was  fortunate,  the  Secre- 
tary wrote,  that  it  was  winter.  This  was  the  time  to  maul  the  wretches. 
The  nights  were  so  long,  the  mountain-tops  so  cold  and  stormy,  that  even 
the  hardiest  men  could  not  long  bear  exposure  to  the  open'  air  without 
a  roof  or  a  spark  of  fire.  That  the  women  and  the  children  could  find 
shelter  in  the  desert  was  (juite  impossible.  When  he  wrote  thus,  no 
thought  that  he  was  committing  a  great  wickedness  crossed  his  mind. 
He  was  ha])i)y  in  the  apjjroljation  of  his  own  conscience.  Duty,  justice — 
nay,  charity  and  mercy — were  the  names  under  which  he  disguised  his 
cruelty ;  nor  is  it  by  any  means  improbable  that  the  disguise  imposed 
upon  himself."  ^ 

Much  of  this  brilliant  passage  is  true.     Ijut  we  distinctly 

^  That  the  i)lan  originally  fraiuud  l)y  the  Master  of  Stair  was  such  as  I  have 
represented  it,  is  clear  from  parts  of  his  letters  wliich  are  (luotcd  in  the  report 
of  1G9.5  ;  and  from  his  letters  to  Breadalbane  of  October  27,  Deoember  2,  and 
Dccenil)er  3,  1691.  Of  these  letters  to  Breadalbane,  the  last  two  are  in  Dal- 
rymplo's  Ai)pendix.  The  first  is  in  the  appendix  to  the  fn-.tt  vohiine  of  Mr 
Burton's  valuable  History  ot  Scotland.  "It  appeared,"  says  Burnet  (ii.  157), 
"that  a  black  design  was  laid  not  only  to  cut  oil'  the  men  of  Glencoe,  but  a 

groat  many  more  clans,  reckoned  to  be  in  all  above  six  thousand  person.s. " 

Note  by  l^ord  Maeaulay. 

-  Vol.  i.  206. 


40  Tlir:    NEW    "  KXAMEN. 

deny  thai  I  he  Master  of  Stair  "looked  with  no  friendly  eye  on 
schemes  of  reconciliation."  On  the  contrary,  the  correspond- 
ence, to  i)art  of  wliich  Lord  Macaulay  refers,  omitting  any 
notice  of  the  remainder,  shows  distinctly  two  facts :  first,  that 
for  months  the  Master  of  Stair  was  most  active  and  urgent  in 
promoting  schemes  of  reconciliation,  by  negotiation,  by  threats, 
and  by  money  ;  and  secondly,  that  William  had  every  fact 
brought  to  his  immediate  notice,  and  gave  personal  directions 
even  as  to  matters  so  minute  as  the  expenditure  of  a  few  hun- 
dred pounds. 

It  was  not  until  the  failure  of  the  negotiation  that  all  the 
tiger  broke  out  in  the  disposition  of  the  Master  of  Stair ;  it 
was  then,  and  not  till  then,  that  he  gave  in  to  Breadalbane's 
scheme  for  mauling  them — (a  scheme  which  Lord  Macaulay 
most  unjustifiably  attributes  not  to  the  Earl,  to  whom  it  be- 
longs of  right,  but  to  the  ]\Iaster  of  Stair,^  who  has  quite  enough 
to  answer  for  without  bearing  any  share  of  other  men's  crimes) 
— and  joined  in  the  determination  to  "  extirpate"  (for  such  was 
the  terrible  word  selected  for  the  order  which  William  signed 
and  countersigned  with  his  own  hand)  the  whole  clan  of  M'lan 
of  Glencoe. 

In  June  1691  the  Master  of  Stair  was  with  William  in  the 
Netherlands  ;  from  thence  he  sent  the  following  letter  to  the 
Earl  of  Breadalbane  : — 

"From  the  Camp  at  Approbaix, 
/«ne25  [15],  1691. 

"  My  Lord, — I  can  say  nothing  to  you.  All  things  as  you 
wish,  but  I  do  long  to  hear  from  you.  By  the  King's  letter  to 
the  Council  you  will  see  lie  has  stopped  all  Jwsfilitus  affairist 
the  Iliglilandcrs  till  he  may  hear  from  you,  and  that  your  tinje 
be  elapsed  without  coming  to  some  issue,  which  I  do  not  ap- 
prehend, for  there  will  come  nothing  to  them.  .  .  .  But  if  they 
will  be  mad,  before  Lammas,  they  will  repent  it ;  for  the  army 
■will  be  allowed  to  go  into  the  Highlands,  which  some  thirst 
so  much  for,  and  the  frigates  will  attack  them  ;  but  /  have  so 
much  confidence  in  your  conduet  and  capacity  to  let  them  see  tlie 

»  Vol.  i.  206. 


THE    MASSACRE    OF   GLENCOE.  47 

ground  they  stand  on,  that  I  think  these  suppositions  arc  vain. 
I  have  sent  your  instructions.  My  dear  Lord,  adieu."' — Stair 
to  Lord  Breadalbane. 

On  the  24th  of  August  he  writes  again  : — 

"Nancoub,  Aug.  24,  O.S.,  1691. 

"  The  more  I  do  consider  our  affairs,  I  think  it  the  more 
necessary  that  your  Lordship  do  with  all  diligence  post  from 
thence,-  and  that  you  write  to  the  clans  to  meet  you  at  Edin- 
burg,  to  save  your  trouble  of  going  further.  They  have  been 
for  some  time  excluded  from  that  place,  so  they  are  fein,  and 
will  be  fond  to  come  there." " 

In  his  next  letter  from  Loo  he  says  :  "  I  hope  it  is  not  in 
anybody's  power  to  deprive  you  of  tlie  success  to  conclude 
that  affair  in  the  terms  the  King  hath  appro ven."  ^  Again, 
writing  from  Deeren  on  the  30th  [20]  of  Sept.,  he  says :  "  My 
Lord, — I  had  yours  from  London,  signifying  that  you  had  not 
been  then  despatched,  for  which  I  am  very  uneasy.  I  spoke 
immediately  to  the,  King,  tliat  without  the  money  the  High- 
landers would  never  do  ;  and  there  have  been  so  many  diffi- 
culties in  the  matter,  that  a  resolution  to  do,  especially  in 
money  matters,  would  not  satisfy.  The  King  said  they  were 
not  presently  to  receive  it,  which  is  true,  but  tliat  he  had 
ordered  it  to  be  delivered  out  of  his  treasury,  so  they  need  not 
fear  in  the  least  performance ;  besides  the  pajjer  being  signed  by 
his  majesty's  hand  for  such  sums  so  to  be  employed,  or  their 
equivalent.  .  .  .  There  wants  no  endeavours  to  render  you 
suspicious  to  the  King,  but  he  asked  what  proof  there  was  for 
the  information  ?  and  bid  me  tell  you  to  go  on  in  your  busi- 
ness ;  the  best  evidence  of  sincerity  was  the  bringing  that  matter 
quicJdy  to  a  conclusion.  .  .  .  I  hope  your  lordship  shall  not 
only  keejy  them  from  giving  any  offence,  but  bring  them  to  take 
the  allegiance,  whicli  they  ought  to  do  very  checrfidly;  for  their 

'  I):il.  Ap.,  l*t.  ii.  110.  -  i.e.,  from  London. 

»  Dill.  Ap.,  Vt.  ii.  210. 

<  Ibid.,  rt.  ii.  211.     Ilislil.nid  I'appis,  Maitlund  <'hil),  4r.. 


48  Tin:  N7:w  "  kxamen. 

lives  (I  )id  furl  II  IK  a  Ihnj  have  Jruin  Ikcir  riiajestics."^ — Stair  to 
lireadalbjine. 

Many  other  passages  occur  in  the  correspondence  ^  showing 
tlie  strong  desire,  on  tlie  part  of  the  Master  of  Stair,  that  the 
llighhmds  should  be  pacified,  if  possible,  by  means  of  negotia- 
tion. In  the  next  letter,  however,  we  hear  the  low  growl  of  the 
coming  storm  which  was  about  to  burst  in  consequence  of  his 
disappointment  at  the  failure  of  his  plans. 

"London,  Dec.  2,  1691. 

"My  Lord, — Yours  of  the  IGth  past  was  very  uneasy  ;  it's 
a  little  qualified  by  that  of  tlie  1 9th.  I  know  not  by  what  I 
was  moved  to  write  to  you  eiglit  days  ago,  as  if  I  had  known 
what  these  letters  brought  me ;  and  though  what  I  WTote  then 
was  only  to  hasten  matters,  the  lingering  being  of  ill  conse- 
quence, yet  I  never  thought  there  was  danger  in  the  miscaiTy- 
ing  of  it.  I  confess  I  was  desirous  of  your  return  upon  the 
finishing  of  your  negotiation ;  but  without  that,  or  the  having 
prevailed  with  one  man,  is  what  I  never  wish  to  see. 

"  I  am  convinced  it  is  neither  your  fault,  nor  can  any 
prejudice  arise  to  their  Majesties'  service  by  the  change  of 
measures,  but  only  ruin  to  the  Highlanders ;  but  yet  at  the 
present  settlement  it  would  do  yourself  and  your  friends  no 

advantage I  doubt  not  but  all  M'ill  come 

right ;  but  though  it  is  necessary  you  do  seem  to  come  liither, 
that  they  may  rue,  yet  you  had  not  best  in  my  opinion  leave 
it ;  and  here  you  cannot  be  before  our  settlement,  as  I  appre- 
hend, is  in  readiness.  I  shall  not  repeat  my  thoughts  of  your 
doited  cousin.  ^  I  perceive  half-sense  will  play  a  double  game, 
but  it  requires  solidity  to  embrace  an  opportunity,  which  to 
him  will  be  lost  for  ever ;  and  the  garrison  of  Inverlochy  is 
little  worth,  if  he  can  either  sleep  in  his  own  bounds,  or  if  he 
ever  be  master  there.  /  repent  nothing  of  the  plan;  but  what 
account  can  be  given  why  Argyle  should  be  forced  to  part  with 

1  Dal.  Ap.,  Pt.  ii.  212. 

^  See  Ibid.,  Pt.  ii.     Higlilaud  Paiais,  Maitlaud  Club. 

3  Locbeil. 


THE    MASSACRE    OF   GLENCOE.  49 

Avdnarauvclian,  to  which  Locheil  hath  no  more  pretence  than  J  ? 
You  cannot  believe  with  what  indifferency  the  King  lieard  this 
matter,  which  did  alarm  and  surprise  us  all,  and  confirmed  the 

bold  assertions  of  others  against  you 

Lieutenant-Colonel  Hamilton,  ])eputy-Governor  of  Inverlochy, 
is  a  discreet  man  ;  you  may  make  use  of  him.  I  should  be 
glad  to  find,  before  you  get  any  positive  order,  tliat  your 
business  is  done,  for  shortly  we  will  conclude  a  resolution  for 

the  winter  campaign I  think  the  clan  Donell 

must  be  rooted  out,  and  Locheil.  Leave  the  IM'Leans  to  Argyle. 
But  [for]  this,  Leven  and  Argyle's  regiments,  with  two  more, 
would  have  been  gone  to  Flanders.  Now,  all  stops,  and  no 
more  money  from  England  to  entertain  tlieni.  God  knows 
whether  the  £12,000  sterling  had  been  better  employed  to 
settle  the  Highlands,  or  to  ravage  them;  but  since  we  will 
make  them  desperate,  I  think  we  should  root  them  out  before 
they  can  get  tliat  help  they  depend  upon."  ^ — Stair  to  Bread- 
albane. 

Even  then  the  Master  of  Stair  did  not  give  up  all  hope. 
The  following  letter,  written  the  very  next  day,  contains  so 
curious  and  valuable  a  picture  of  his  state  of  mind  that  we 
give  it  entire  : — 

"  London,  December  3,  1691.'' 

"My  Lord, — Tlie  last  post  brought  Tarbat  letters  from 
Glengarry,  or  from  his  lady,  and  Korry  upon  a  message. 
(Jlengarry  liad  sent  to  him  to  Edinburg.  This  hath  furnished 
him  ojjporttniity  to  discourse  the  King  on  all  these  matters. 
He  tells  me  he  hath  vindicated  you;  only  the  share  that  tlie 
Macdonalds  get  is  too  little,  and  unequal  to  your  good  cousin's  ^ 
(really  that's  true);  and  lie  would  have  the  money  given  to 
Glengarry,  and  leave  Argyle  and  him  to  deal  for  the  ]»lea. 
He  thought  his  share  had  been  only  £1000  sterlinu.      /  have 

'  Dal.  A  p.,  rt.  ii.  214. 

"  In  the  Ai)i)enilix     to    D.alrym]ili''s    Memoirs,  this  letter  is  horded  thus, 
"  Secretary  Stair  to  Lord  Hreailalbiii. — Desires  his  miiulhiy  seheiiu'." 
•*  Locheil. 

D 


50  'IIIK    NKVV    "  KXAMEN." 

aatisfu'd  tlic  Kiiifi  in  these  jwvits,  that  liis  share  is  £1500 
stcrliiiL,',  and  that  he  nor  none  of  them  can  ^'ct  tlie  money 
if  Argyle  cons(;nt  not ;  for  that  destroys  all  that  is  good  in 
the  settlement,  which  is  to  take  away  grounds  of  hereditaiy 
lends.  To  be  brief,  I'll  assure  you  that  I  shall  never  consent 
anybody's  meddling  shall  be  so  much  regarded  as  to  get  any  of 
your  terms  altered.  By  the  next  I  expect  to  hear  eiiJicr  that 
tJiese  2^cf>2^i6  ^''>'^  come  to  your  hand,  or  else  your  scheme  for 
maulinrj  them;  for  it  will  not  delay.  On  the  next  week  the 
officers  will  be  despatched  from  this,  with  instructions  to 
garrison  luvergarry,  and  Buchan's  regiment  will  join  Leven, 
which  will  be  force  enough ;  they  will  have  petards  and  some 
cannon.  /  a??i  not  changed  as  to  the  expediency  of  doing  things 
by  the  easiest  means  and  at  leisure,  but  the  madness  of  these 
people,  and  their  ungratefulness  to  you,  makes  me  plainly  see 
there  is  no  reckoning  on  them  :  but  dclcnda  est  Carthago. 
Yet  who  have  accepted,  and  do  take  the  oaths,  will  be  safe, 
but  deserve  no  kindness  ;  and  even  in  that  case  there  must  be 
hostages  of  their  nearest  relations,  for  there  is  no  regarding 
men's  words  when  their  interest  cannot  oblige.  Menzies, 
Glengarry,  and  all  of  them,  have  written  letters  and  taken 
pains  to  make  it  believed  that  all  you  did  was  for  the  interest 
of  King  James.  Therefore  look  on  and  yon  shall  be  satisfied 
of  your  revenge. — Adieu."  ^ 

Two  things  (as  we  have  already  observed)  are  clear  from  this 
correspondence, — 

1st,  That  up  to  December  the  Master  of  Stair  was  desirous 
to  promote  a  peaceable  and  bloodless  settlement  with  the 
Highland  chieftains. 

2d,  That  every  step  was  communicated  to  William ;  and  that 
so  far  from  his  having  been,  as  Burnet  and  Lord  Macaulay 
represent  him,-  kept  in  ignorance  as  to  what  was  going  on,  he 
attended  to  all  the  minutiai  of  the  aflair,  down  even  to  the 
distribution  of  a  small  sum  of  money. 

Lord  Macaulay  cites  two  passages  from  these  letters  :  one, 

'  Dal.  App.,  Pt.  ii.  217. 

-  r.urnet,  iv.  l.">4  ;  Mac,  iv.  204. 


THE    MASSACRE    OF    GLEXCOE.  51 

that  retening  to  the  scheme  i'ur  "  mauling,"  which  he  attiiLutes 
to  Stair  instead  of  to  Breadalbane  ;^  aud  the  other  to  the 
"  words  in  which  the  implacahle  Pioman  pronounced  the  doom 
of  Carthage,"  ^  wliich  he  refers  to  without  quoting  the  sentence 
in  which  they  occur,  and  exactly  reversing  the  meaning  of  tlie 
passage.  The  Master  of  Stair  expresses  regret  that  this  must 
take  place,  because  other  means  had  failed,  and  on  account  of 
the  madness  and  ingratitude  of  the  Higl danders.  Lord  j\Iac- 
aulay  cites  the  expression  as  a  proof  of  his  implacable  deter- 
mination to  destroy  them.  A  reference  to  the  letter  shows  at 
once  the  sense  in  wdiich  it  is  used.  We  know  nothing  in 
Lord  Macaulay's  History  more  unfair  than  his  treatment  of 
these  letters,  his  knowledge  of  which  is  proved  by  the  two 
instances  in  which  he  misquotes  them. 

We  left  M'lan  at  Glencoe  protected  from  the  vindictiveness 
of  Breadalbane  by  the  treaty  of  the  30th  of  June.  In  August 
a  proclamation  was  issued  by  the  Government,  offering  a  free 
indemnity  and  pardon  to  all  Highlanders  who  had  been  in 
arms,  upon  their  coming  in  and  taking  the  oath  of  allegiance 
before  the  1st  of  January  following.''  Breadalbane's  negoti- 
ation failed,  and  he  returned  to  court  "  to  give  an  account  of 
his  diligence,  and  to  bring  back  the  money."  *  Such  is  Bur- 
net's account ;  and  this  is  a  point  upon  which,  from  his  con- 
nection with  William,  he  was  likely  to  be  well  informed,  and 
(what  is  of  quite  equal  importance)  it  is  one  as  to  which  he 
does  not  appear  to  have  had  any  interest  in  misstating  the 
facts. 

About  the  end  of  December — such  are  the  words  of  the 
'  Report ' — M'lan''  presented  himself  before  Colonel  Hill  at 
Inverlochy,  and  desired  that  the  oath  of  allegiance  should  be 
administered  to  him.  Hill  appears  to  have  considered  that, 
as  a  military  officer,  he  had  no  power  to  administer  the  oath. 

'  The  passaj^c  iu  the  letter  leaves  no  (loul)t  tliat  tlic  "  srlicnic  for  mauling 
them"  was  Breadalbane's;  whether  the  brutal  e.xprcssion  was  his  or  .Stair's  is 
of  little  conse(iueucc. 

2  Vol.  iv.  201.  3  Keport,  14  ;  .State  Trials,  xiii.  89G. 

"  Burnet,  iv.  153. 

"Report,  14— ])ulilishc(l  17^4;  reprint  of  1818.  The  h'rpurt  will  also  bo 
found  ill  .St;ile  Trials,  xiii.  89(). 


52  'llli:    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

lit',  liowcv(!r,  advised  M'lan  to  i;o  without  delay  to  Sir  Colin 
Campbell  of  Ardkiiilas,  the  sheriff-depute  of  Argyle,  at  Inver- 
ary,  to  whom  he  gave  him  a  letter  urging  Ardkinlas  to  receive 
him  "  as  a  lost  slicep."  '  M'lan  hastened  to  Inverary  with  all 
the  speed  that  a  country  i-ough  and  destitute  of  roads  and  a 
tempestuous  season  would  permit;  he  crossed  Loch  Leven 
within  half  a  mile  of  his  own  house,  but  did  not  even  turn 
aside  to  visit  it.  As  he  passed  Barcaldine,  which  appears  then 
to  have  been  in  the  possession  of  Breadalbane,-  he  was  seized 
upon  by  Captain  Drummond  (of  whom  we  shall  hear  more 
presently),  and  detained  twenty-four  hours.  He  arrived  at 
Inverary  on  the  2d  or  3d  of  January  ;  but  here  again  luck  was 
against  him,  for  Ardkinlas  (detained  by  the  bad  weather)  did 
not  arrive  until  three  days  afterwards.  On  the  6th  of  January, 
Ardkinlas,  after  some  scruple,  and  upon  the  earnest  solicitation 
of  M'lan,  administered  the  oath.-' 

M'lan  returned  to  Glencoe,  "  called  his  people  together,  told 
them  that  he  had  taken  the  oath  of  allegiance  and  made  his 
peace,  and  therefore  desired  and  engaged  them  to  live  peace- 
ably under  King  William's  Government."^  He  considered 
that  he  and  his  people  were  now  safe.  Ardkinlas  forwarded 
a  certificate  that  Glencoe  had  taken  the  oath,  to  Edinburgh, 
written  on  the  same  paper  with  some  certificates  relating  to 
other  persons.  When  the  paper  was  afterwards  produced  by 
the  clerk  of  the  Council,  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot,  upon  the  occasion 
of  the  inquiry  which  took  place  some  years  afterwards,  the 
part  relating  to  Glencoe  was  found  scored  through  and  oblit- 
erated, but  so,  nevertheless,  that  it  was  still  legible.  Lord 
Macaulay  attributes  this — as  he  attributes  everything  foul — 
to  the  Master  of  Stair.  "  By  a  dark  intrigue,"  he  says,  "  of 
which  the  history  is  but  imperfectly  known,  but  which  was  in 
all  probability  directed  by  the  Master  of  Stair,  the  evidence 
of  M'lan's  tardy  submission  was  suppressed."^  The  circum- 
stances are  set  forth  in  the  '  Report/  and  do  not  appear  to  us 
to  be  shrouded  in  much  mystery.  Ardkinlas  forwarded  to  his 
namesake,  Colin  Campbell,  the  sheriff-clerk  of  Argyle,  who 

>  Kepoit.  '  Report,  15.  ^  Report,  16. 

*  IJ.port,  18.  ^  Vol.  iv.  203. 


THE    MASSACRE    OF   GLENCOE.  53 

was  iu  Edinburgh  at  the  time,  along  with  the  certificates,  Hill's 
letter  to  himself,  urging  that  he  should  receive  "  the  lost 
sheep,"  and  at  the  same  time  wrote  how  earnest  Glencoe  was 
to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance — that  he  had  taken  it  on  the 
6th  of  January,  but  that  he  (Ardkinlas)  was  doubtful  if  the 
Council  would  receive  it.^  The  sheriff-clerk  took  the  certi- 
ficate to  the  clerks  of  the  Council,  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot  and  Mr 
David  Moncrieff,  who  refused  to  receive  it  because  the  oath 
was  taken  after  the  time  had  expired.  The  sheriff-clerk  and 
a  Writer  to  the  Signet,  another  Campbell,  then  applied  to 
Lord  Aberuchill,  also  a  Campbell,  who  was  a  member  of  the 
Privy  Council,  who,  after  advising  with  some  other  privy 
councillors,  of  whom,  according  to  one  account,  Lord  Stair,- 
tlie  father  of  the  Master,  was  one,  gave  it  as  their  opinion  that 
the  certificate  could  not  be  received  with  safety  to  Ardkinlas 
or  advantage  to  Glencoe,  without  a  warrant  from  the  King. 
It  was  therefore  obliterated,  and  in  that  condition  given  in  to 
the  clerk  of  the  Council.  But  it  did  not  appear  that  the  mat- 
ter was  brought  before  the  Council,  "that  their  pleasure  might 
be  known  upon  it,  though  it  seemed  to  have  been  intended  by 
Ardkinlas,  who  both  wrote  himself  and  sent  Colonel  Hill's 
letter  for  to  make  Glencoe's  excuse,  and  desired  expressly  to 
know  the  Council's  pleasure."^  There  appears  to  be  nothing 
to  connect  the  Master  of  Stair,  who  was  in  London  at  the 
time,  with  this  transaction  ;  indeed,  his  letter  of  the  9th  of 
January,  in  which  he  says  "  that  they  have  had  an  account 
that  "  Glencoe  had  taken  the  oaths  at  Inverary,"  *  and  regrets 
his  being  safe  ;  and  that  of  the  11th,  in  which  he  says  "  that 
Argyle  told  him  Glencoe  had  not  taken  the  oaths," '^  seem 
conclusively  to  negative  his  having  had  any  correct  knowledge 
of  what  had  taken  place. 

In  the  mean  time,  Brcadalbane,  eager  to  satisfy  old  gnidgcs, 
and  the  Master  of  Stair,  in  whose  mind  disappointment  for 


»  Kepoit,  17. 

*  Mr  Burton,  in  liis  History  of  Scotland,  falls  into  a  not  unnatural,  but 
rather  important,  mistake,  which  he  will  no  doubt  be  glad  to  corrcLt,  betwcci: 
the  father  and  son,  and  states  that  the  Master  of  Stair  was  consulted,  &c. 

3  Report,  18.  *  OaL  Ked.  101,  104.  »  Ibid. 


54  TiiK  Ni;\v  "  i;xami;n. 

the  t'liiliirc  ol'  his  .scliciiic  .scteins  to  Ii.'ivc  uwakcin'tl  a  rccliii;^  of 
ferocity,  tlir  intenseness  oi"  wliidi  MjipcaiH  hardly  compatibhi 
with  sanity,  hail  detenniiicd  iqxjii  the  destruction  of  the;  Ohn- 
coe  men. 

Burnet  states  tliat  the  ])ro])o.sal  for  a  military  execution 
u])on  the  Glencoe  men  emanated  from  Ureadalbane  ;  that  he 
had  the  double  view  of  gratifying  his  own  revenge  and  ren- 
dering the  King  hateful.^  If  this  were  so,  he  certainly  at- 
tained both  objects.  Here,  liowever,  we  find  no  guide  wliom 
we  can  safely  follow ;  for  Burnet's  narrative,  written  long 
after,  and  with  the  manifest  design  of  excusing  William,  is 
full  of  inaccuracies  and  false  statements.  We  have,  however, 
the  fact,  as  to  which  there  can  be  no  doubt  whatever,  that  the 
following  order  was  signed  by  William  on  the  IGth  of  January 
1G92:— 

"  IGth  January  1692. 

"William  E. — 1.  The  copy  of  that  paper  given  by  Mac- 
donald  of  Aughtera  to  you  hath  been  shown  us.  We  did 
formerly  grant  passes  to  Buchan  and  Cannon,  and  we  do 
authorise  and  allow  you  to  grant  passes  to  them,  and  for  ten 
servants  to  each  of  them,  to  come  freely  and  safely  to  Leith; 
and  from  that  to  be  transported  to  the  Netherlands  before 
the  day  of  March  next  ;  to  go  from  thence  when  they 

please  without  any  stop  or  trouble. 

"  2.  We  do  allow  you  to  receive  the  submissions  of  Glen- 
garry and  those  with  him,  upon  their  taking  the  oath  of  al- 
legiance and  delivering  up  the  house  of  luvergarry  ;  to  be 
safe  as  to  their  lives,  but  as  to  their  estates  they  must  depend 
upon  our  mercy. 

"  3.  In  case  you  find  that  the  house  of  Invergany  cannot 
probably  be  taken  in  this  season  of  the  year,  with  the  artillery 
and  other  provisions  you  can  bring  there ;  in  that  case  we 
leave  it  to  yoiir  discretion  to  give  Glengarry  the  assurance  of 
entire  indemnity  for  life  and  fortune,  upon  delivering  of  the 
house  and  arms,  and  talcing  the  oath  of  allegiance.  In  this  you 
are  allowed  to  act  as  you  find  the  circumstances  of  the  affair 

1  Burnet,  iv.  153. 


THE    MASSACllE    OF    GLENCOE.  55 

do  require;  but  it  were  much  better  that  those  who  have  not 
taken  the  benefit  of  our  indemnity  in  the  terms,  and  within 
the  diet  prefixt  by  our  proclamation,  they  should  be  obliged 
to  render  upon  mercy.  And  the  taking  the  oath  of  allegiance 
is  indispensable,  others  having  already  taken  it. 

"  4.  If  M'Ean  of  Glencoe  and  that  try  be  can  be  well  sepa- 
rated from  the  rest,  it  will  be  a  proper  vindication  of  the  public 
justice  to  extirpate  that  sect  of  thieves.  The  double  of  these 
instructions  is  only  comnmnicated  to  Colonel  Hill. — "W.  Rex." 
— Instructions  from  the  King  to  Sir  Thomas  Livingston.  ^ 

The  advocates  of  William  have  framed  various  defences  for 
this  act.  Burnet  says  he  signed  the  order  without  inquiry.'^ 
Lord  Macaulay  sees,  as  every  one  must,  that  it  is  impossible 
to  support  this  in  the  face  of  the  facts.  He  takes  the  bolder 
course,  and  justifies  the  order.     He  says  that — 

"  Even  on  the  supi^osition  that  lie  read  the  order  to  which  he  affixed 
his  name,  there  seems  to  be  no  reason  for  hlaming  liim'" — that  the  words 
of  the  order  "  naturally  hear  a  sense  'perfectly  innocent,  and  would,  but 
for  the  liorrible  event  which  followed,  have  been  universally  understood 
in  that  sense.  It  is  undoul)tedly  one  of  the  first  duties  of  every  Govern- 
ment to  extirpate  gangs  of  thieves.  This  does  not  mean  that  ever\'  thief 
ought  to  be  treacherously  assassinated  in  his  sleep,  or  even  that  every 
thief  ought  to  be  publicly  executed  after  a  fair  trial,  but  that  every  gang, 
as  a  gang,  ought  to  l)e  completely  broken  up,  and  that  whatever  severity 
is  indispensably  necessary  for  that  end  ought  to  be  used. 

"  If  William  had  read  and  weighed  the  words  which  were  submitted 
to  him  by  his  secretary,  he  would  probably  have  understood  them  to 
mean  that  Glencoe  was  to  be  occupied  by  troops  ;  that  resistance,  if 
resistance  were  attemi)ted,  was  to  be  put  down  with  a  strong  hand  ;  that 
severe  punishment  was  to  be  inflicted  on  those  leading  members  of  the 
clan  who  could  be  proved  to  have  been  guilty  of  great  crimes ;  that  some 
active  young  freebooters  who  were  more  used  to  handle  the  broadsword 
than  the  plough,  and  who  did  not  seem  likely  to  settle  down  into  quiet 
labourers,  were  to  be  sent  to  the  army  in  the  Low  Countries;  that  othere 
were  to  be  transported  to  the  American  plantations  ;  and  that  those 
Macdonalds  who  were  sullered  to  remain  in  their  native  valley  were  to 
be  disarmed,  and  retpiired  to  give  hostages  for  good  behaviour."  ' 

1  Hij,'ld;iiul  1'iiiKT.s,  65.  Sec  the  diipULate  addressed  to  Hill,  Culloduu 
Papers,  19. 

=*  Burnet,  iv.  151.  ^  Vol.  iv.  'J05. 


56  TIIK    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

We  can  Iniidly  supjxt.Sft  tliat  Luiil  Macaulay  intended  hi.H 
r(!aders  to  accept  th(!se  transparent  sophisms  as  his  deliberate 
opinion.  We  suspect  he  is  lauf,dn'n<^  in  liis  sleeve  at  the 
credulity  of  the  puljlic.  The  only  charge  against  the  ^fac- 
donalds  was  that  they  had  been  ih  arms  against  the  Govern- 
ment, and  had  omitted  to  take  the  oaths  of  alhsgiance  before  a 
specified  day.  There  was  no  question  before;  William  of  any 
suppression  of  a  "  gang  of  freebooters."  There  was  no  accusa- 
tion even  of  offences  comnn'tted  against  life  or  property.  lUit 
supposing  there  had  been  such  a  charge  —  supposing  that 
Breadalbane  had  accused  certain  individuals  of  the  tribe  of 
steoAing  his  cows,  or  even  of  firing  his  house — does  Lord 
Macaulay  mean  gravely  to  assert  that  such  an  accusation 
would  have  justified  William,  without  inquiry  or  trial,  in 
issuing  an  order  for  the  "  extirpation  "  of  three  hundred  men, 
women,  and  children,  simply  for  bearing  the  name  and  owning 
the  blood  of  the  offenders  ? 

Hardly  a  month  passes  without  worse  offences  than  any 
the  Glencoe  men  have  ever  been  accused  of,  being  committed 
at  the  present  time  in  Ireland.  What  would  Lord  Macaulay 
think  of  a  Government  that  proceeded  to  "extirpate  "  by  mili- 
tary execution,  without  trial  and  without  warning,  all  the 
inhabitants  of  the  parish  where  a  murder  had  been  commit- 
ted, with  particular  instructions  that  the  squire  of  the  parish 
should  by  no  means  be  allowed  to  escape  ? 

If  the  order  is  to  be  justified  as  Lord  Macaiday  here 
attempts  to  justify  it,  as  an  act  of  the  civil  power  done  in 
execution  of  "  one  of  the  first  duties  of  every  Government,"  it 
should  have  been  preceded  by  the  trial  and  conviction  of  the 
offenders.  It  should  have  been  addressed,  not  to  the  military 
governor  of  Inverlochy,  but  to  the  Lord  Advocate  or  the 
sheriff-depute  of  the  county.  The  attempt  to  justify  the  order 
on  the  ground  of  its  being  a  civil  act,  is  clearly  untenable  ; 
and  Lord  Macaulay  himself  subsequently  aliandons  it  when 
he  attempts  to  justify  William  for  not  inflicting  punishment 
on  the  perpetrators  of  the  act,  on  the  ground  that  they  were 
compelled  to  do  it  by  the  military  duty  of  obedience  to  their 
superior  officers.     If  the  subject  were  less    horrible,  if  the 


THE    MASSACRE    OF    GLENCOE.  67 

duties  of  an  historian  were  less  solemn,  Lord  Macaulay's 
attempt  to  introduce  a  new  meaning  for  the  word  "  extirpate  " 
would  be  simply  amusing,  "^^'e  are  quite  satisfied  to  abide  by 
tlie  authority  of  Johnson  and  of  old  Bailey  tlie  "  f /X&'Xoyof," 
who  agree  that  it  means  "  to  root  out,"  "  to  destroy  ; "  and  we 
have  no  doubt  William  knew  enough  of  English  to  attach  the 
same  meaning  to  the  word.^ 

This  order,  it  will  be  observed,  is  dated  on  the  16th  of  Jan- 
uary. Few  facts  in  history  are  proved  by  better  evidence  than 
the  fact  (denied  both  by  Burnet  and  Lord  Macaulay^)  that 
William,  at  the  time  he  signed  it,  knew  that  M'lan  had  taken 
the  oath. 

A  reference  to  the  Master  of  Stair's  letters  of  the  25th  of 
June,  20th  of  September,  and  3d  of  December,  will  show  how 
minute  an  attention  was  paid  by  the  King  to  all  that  was 
going  on  in  Scotland  with  relation  to  the  clans.  On  the  9th 
of  Januaiy,  the  jNIaster  of  Stair  wrote  from  London,  where  he 
was  in  constant  communication  with  William, — "  We  have  an 
account  that  Lockhart  and  INIacnaughten,  Appin  and  Glenco, 
took  the  benefit  of  the  indemnity  at  Inverary ;"  and  he  adds : 
"  I  have  been  with  the  King ;  he  says  your  instructions  shall 
be  despatched  on  Monday."^  When  we  couple  these  facts 
with  the  subsequent  imj)unity  which  William  granted  to  all, 
and  the  rewards  he  bestowed  upon  some  of  those  who  executed 
the  order,  we  think  no  reasonable  doubt  can  be  entertained 
that  he  knew  both  the  fact  tliat  Glencoe  had  taken  the  oath 
and  the  nature  of  the  warrant  he  gave,  though  we  do  not 
tliink  that  he  contemplated  (indeed  it  was  hardly  possible  he 
should)  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  treacheiy  and  barbarity 
which  attended  the  execution  of  the  order. 

Most  of  the  accounts  of  these  transactions  give  only  the 
concluding  paragraph  of  the  order.  The  whole  of  the  docu- 
ment is  material.     It  contains  internal  evidence  whicli  places 

'  Tlie  examjile  given  by  Jolinson  is  the  following  :  "We  iu  vnin  attempt 
to  drive  the  wolf  from  our  own  door  to  another's  door.  The  breed  ought  to  be 
extirpated  out  of  the  island." — Lockk. 

2   [{urnct,  iv.  1.54;  Mar.,  iv.  201. 

2  Gal.  Ked.,  101-104. 


."38  THE    Ni;W    "  KXAMHN. 

it  Itcyoiid  (luubt  tliiit  Willi;iin  had  considered  and  approved  of 
its  contents.  The  i)articuhir  directions  as  to  the  passes  to  be 
granted  to  Buchan  and  Cannon,  the  instructions  as  to  the  line 
to  he  pursued  witli  regard  to  Glengarry,  Lear  tlie  marks  of 
having  been  under  liis  consideration ;  and  it  is  particularly 
deserving  of  observation  tliat  it  is  assumed  that  Glengarry 
and  the  Macdonalds  had  not  taken  the  oaths,  yet  they  were  to 
be  safe  as  to  their  lives,  and  in  certain  circumstances  as  to 
their  property  also,  whilst  Glenco  and  the  M'lans  were  to  be 
"  extirpated."  The  only  circumstance  to  distinguish  Mac- 
donald  of  Glengarry  from  M'lan  of  Glencoe  being,  that  the 
former  was  at  that  moment  holding  his  castle  in  open  and 
avowed  defiance,  whilst  the  latter  had  taken  the  oath  of  alle- 
giance, and  had  brought  his  people  into  a  state  of  peaceful 
submission  to  the  Government.  Yet  Lord  Macaulay  thinks 
that  there  is  "  no  reason  for  blaming  "  the  King  for  signing  an 
order  to  spare  Glengarry  and  to  "  extirpate  "  Glencoe,  and  that 
the  order  itself  was  "  perfectly  innocent." 

The  Master  of  Stair  lost  no  time  in  putting  William's  com- 
mands into  execution.  He  forwarded  the  order  forthwith  in 
duplicate  to  Livingstone,  the  commander  of  the  forces,  and  to 
Hill,  the  governor  of  the  garrison  of  Inverlochy ;  and  he  wrote 
on  the  IGth  January,  the  very  day  on  which  the  order  was 
signed,  the  following  letter  to  the  former : — 

"London,  Jnn.  16,  1692. 
"  Sill, — By  this  flying  packet  I  send  you  further  instruc- 
tions concerning  the  propositions  by  Glengarry ;  none  know 
what  they  are  but  Col.  Hill,  &:c.  .  .  .  The  King  docs  not  at 
all  incline  to  receive  any  after  the  diet  hut  on  mercy,  &c.  .  .  , 
But,  for  a  just  example  of  vengeance,  I  intreat  that  the  thiev- 
ing tribe  of  Glenco  may  be  rooted  out  in  earnest.  .  .  .  Let 
me  know  whether  you  would  have  me  expede  your  commis- 
sion as  a  brigadier  of  the  army  in  general,  or  if  you  would 
rather  want  it  till  the  end  of  this  expedition  ;  that  I  hope  your 
success  may  he  such  as  to  incline  to  give  you  a  fartlicr  advance- 
ment^' &c. — Stair  to  Livingstone.^ 

1  Higliland  Paiicrs,  66. 


THE   MASSACRE   OF   GLENCOE.  59 

He  wrote  on  the  same  day  to  Hill  : — 

"I  shall  entreat  you,  that  for  a  just  vengeance  and  public 
example  the  thieving  tribe  of  Glenco  may  be  rooted  out  ^  to 
purpose.  The  Earls  of  Argile  and  Breadalbane  have  promised 
they  shall  have  no  retreat  in  their  bounds.  The  passes  to 
Eannocli  would  be  secured,  &c.  A  party  that  may  be  posted 
in  Island  Stalker  must  cut  them  off,"  &c.-^ 

Again  on  the  30th  of  January  he  wrote  : — 

"...  Let  it  be  secret  and  sudden.  ...  It  must  be  quietly 
done,  otherwise  they  will  make  shift  both  for  the  men  and 
their  cattle.  Argyle's  detachment  lies  in  Keppoch  welP  to 
assist  the  garrison  to  do  all  on  a  sudden."^ 

Other  letters  from  the  Master  of  Stair  contain  expressions 
even  more  savage.  In  one  of  them  he  informs  Livingstone 
with  exultation  that  a  report  had  reached  him,  through 
Argyle,  that  Glencoe  had  not  taken  the  oath ;  but  these 
which  we  have  quoted  refer  immediately  and  expressly  to 
William's  order  for  "  extii-pation "  of  the  16th  of  Januar}'. 

Hill  was  a  time-serving  but  not  an  inhumaii  man.  He 
had  kept  in  with  every  Government  since  the  Commonwealth, 
but  he  had  no  taste  for  unnecessary  bloodshed,  though  he  had 
not  sufficient  manliness  or  courage  to  oppose  the  slaughter. 
Eeady  agents  were,  however,  found  in  Sir  Thomas  Livingstone, 
Lieut.-Col.  Hamilton,  Major  Duncanson,  Captain  Campbell  of 
Glenlyon,  Captain  Drummond,  and  the  two  Lindsays.  These 
names  have  been  handed  down  to  an  immortality  of  infamy, 
as  the  willing  and  remorseless  tools  of  the  King,  of  Breadal- 
bane, and  the  ^Master  of  Stair,  in  the  work  of  murder.  On 
the  23d  of  January,  immediately  after  the  receipt  of  the 
Master's  letter  of  the  16th,  Sir  Thomas  Livingstone  wrote  to 
Lieut.-Col.  Hamilton,  as  follows  : — 

"  KDiNv.ritGn,  Jan.  23,  1692. 
"  Sir,  —  Since  my   last   I    understand   that   the    Laird  of 

'  It  is  worth  a  passing  notice  that  the  expression  of  Stair,  "  rooted  oat,"  is 
tlu'  ]irecise  ciiuivak-nt  for  William's  extirpate. 
2  Highland  Papers,  Maitland  Cluh,  66. 
^  In  other  copies  these  words  arc  "in  Lettrickwhecl." 
*  Gal.  Red.,  102  ;  Report,  31. 


fiO  'IHK    M;\V    "  KXAMKN. 

(Jleiicoc,  coming  utter  the  pretixt  time,  was  not  admitted  to 
take  the  oath — which  is  very  good  riewa  to  us  here,  being  that 
at  Court  it  is  wished  that  he  had  not  taken  it — so  that  tlie 
very  nest  might  be  entirely  routed  out ;  for  the  secretary,  in 
three  of  his  last  letters,  has  made  mention  of  him,  and  it  is 
known  at  Court  that  he  lias  not  taken  it.  So,  sir,  here  is  a 
fair  occasion  to  show  you  that  your  garrison  serves  for  some 
use  ;  and  heirig  that  the  order  is  so  j)ositive  from  Court  to  me  not 
to  spare  any  of  them  that  were  not  timeously  come  in,  as  you 
may  see  by  the  orders  I  sent  to  your  colonel,  I  desire  you 
would  begin  with  Glencoe,  and  spare  nothing  of  what  belongs 
to  them  ;  hut  do  not  trouble  the  Government  with  prisoners.  I 
shall  expect  with  the  first  occasion  to  hear  the  progress  you 
have  made  in  this,  and  remain,  sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

"T.  Livingstone."^ 

Hamilton  lost  no  time.  ^  Campbell  of  Glenlyon  was 
selected  for  the  service.  On  the  1st  of  February  1692  he 
entered  the  glen  with  his  two  subalterns,  Lieutenant  and 
Ensign  Lindsay,  and  one  hundred  and  twenty  men.  The 
story  of  the  massacre  has  been  told  in  eloquent  prose  and  in 
impassioned  verse,  but  never,  in  our  opinion,  so  vividly,  so 
impressively,  as  in  the  words  of  the  '  Eeport '  of  1695  : — 

"  The  slaughter  of  the  Glenco  men  was  in  this  manner — 
viz.  :  John  and  Alexander  Macdonald,  sons  to  the  deceased 
Glenco,  depone  that,  Glengar}''s  house  being  reduced,  the 
forces  were  called  back  to  the  south,  and  Glenlyon,  a  captain 
of  the  Earl  of  Argyle's  regiment,  with  Lieutenant  Lindsay  and 
Ensign  Lindsay,  and  six-score  soldiers,  returned  to  Glenco 
about  the  1st  of  February  1692,  where  at  their  entry  the  elder 
brother  John  met  them,  with  about  twenty  men,  and  de- 
manded the  reason  of  their  coming ;  and  Lieutenant  Lindsay 
showed  him  his  orders  for  quartering  there,  under   Colonel 

"  CuUoden  Tapers  19  ;  Highland  Papers,  Maitland  Club,  68  ;  Report,  31. 

'  Just  one  hundred  years  after  these  events,  in  1791,  the  opening  of  the 
roads  and  the  establishment  of  posts  are  mentioned  as  having  had  so  great  an 
elTfct  that  "a  letter  might  come  froni  Edinburgh  to  Appin  in  three  days  or 
even  two  days  and  a  half." — Sinclair's  Statistical  Account  of  the  Highlands, 
i.  -197. 


THE    MASSACRE    OF   GLENCOE.  Gl 

Hill's  hand,  and  gave  assurance  that  they  were  only  come  to 
quarter ;  whereupon  they  were  billeted  in  the  country,  and 
had  free  quarters  and  kind  entertainment,  living  familiarly 
with  the  people  until  tlie  13th  day  of  February.  And 
Alexander  further  depones,  that  Glenlyon,  being  his  wife's 
uncle,  came  almost  every  day  and  took  liis  morning  drink 
at  his  house ;  and  that  the  very  night  before  the  slaughter, 
Glenlyon  did  play  at  cards  in  his  own  quarters  with  both  the 
brothers.  And  John  depones,  that  old  Glenco,  his  father,  had 
invited  Glenlyon,  Lieutenant  Lindsay,  and  Ensign  Lindsay,  to 
dine  with  him  upon  the  very  day  the  slaughter  happened." 

Here  we  must  break  in  upon  the  narrative,  and  show  how 
this  12th  of  February,  which  was  passed  by  Glenlyon  in 
playing  cards  with  the  young  Macdonalds  in  his  quarters, 
and  receiving  invitations  from  their  father,  was  employed  by 
Hill,  Hamilton,  and  Duncanson.  This  will  appear  from  the 
following  letters,  all  of  which  are  dated  on  that  day  : — 

"  Fort  William,  12ik  Feb.  1692. 
"  Sir, — You  are,  with  four  hundred  of  my  regiment,  and 
the  four  hundred  of  my  Lord  Argyle's  regiment  under  the 
command  of  Major  Duncanson,  to  march  straight  to  Glenco, 
and  there  put  in  execution  the  orders  you  have  received  from 
the  Commander-in-Chief.  Given  under  my  hand  at  Fort 
William  the  12th  [Feb.]  1692.  J.  Hill."— Col.  Hill  to 
Lieut.-Col.  Hamilton.^ 

(?)  2  "  Balliciiyi.ls,  I2ih  Fib.  1692. 

"Sir, — Persuant  to  the  Commander-in-Chief  and  my 
colonel's  order  to  me,  for  putting  in  execution  the  King's 
command  against  these  rebels  of  Glenco,  wherein  you,  with 
the  party  of  the  Earl  of  Argyll's  regiment  under  your  com- 
mand, are  to  be  concerned :  you  are,  therefore,  forthwith  to 
order  your  affairs  so  as  that  the  several  posts  already  assigned 

>  Highland  Pajiers,  Maitland  Club  74  ;  Report,  32.  Hamilton  had  re- 
ceived his  orders  dire(;t  from  Livingstone.  Hill  says,  "  that  for  himself  he 
liked  not  the  business,  but  was  very  grieved  at  it." — Report,  30. 

■^  "Fort  William"  in  other  copies,  and  ap]iarently  correct.  See  the  order 
in  the  P.S.  to  have  the  boats  on  (his  .side  to  jirevcnt  the  escape  of  the  victims. 
— Highland  Tapers,  71. 


02  TFIK    NKW    "  KXAMKN." 

you  1»(!  hy  }(iii  ;iM(l  y<iur  sovonil  (lotachments  falii  in  activo- 
ness  precisely  by  five  of  tlic  clock  to-morrow  morning,  being 
Siitunlay  ;  at  wliich  time  I  will  endeavour  the  same  with  those 
appuintcd  from  tliis  regiment  for  the  other  places.  It  will  be 
most  necessary  you  secure  well  those  avenues  on  the  south  side, 
that  the  old  fox,  nor  none  of  his  cubs,  get  away.  The  orders 
are,  that  none  be  spared  of  tlie  sword,  nor  the  Government 
troubled  with  prisoners ;  which  is  all  until  I  see  you,  from, 
sir,  your  most  humble  servant,  James  Hamilton'. 

"  Please  to  order  a  guard  to  secure  the  ferry  and  boats 
there  ;  and  the  boats  must  be  all  on  this  side  the  ferry  after 
your  men  are  over." — Lieut.-Col.  Hamilton  to  Major  liobt. 
Duncanson.^ 

''\-2th  Fch.  1G92. 

"  Sir, — You  are  hereby  ordered  to  fall  upon  the  rebels,  the 
Macdonalds  of  Glenco,  and  put  all  to  the  sword  under  seventy. 
You  are  to  have  an  especial  care  that  the  old  fox  and  his  sons  do 
not  escape  your  hands  ;^  you  are  to  secure  all  the  avenues  that 
no  man  escape.  This  you  are  to  put  in  execution  at  five  of 
the  clock  precisely ;  and  by  that  time,  or  very  shortly  after  it, 
I  will  strive  to  be  at  you  with  a  stronger  party.  If  I  do  not 
come  to  you  at  five,  you  are  not  to  tarry  for  me,  but  to  fall  on. 
This  is  hy  the  King's  special  command,  for  the  good  and  safety 
of  the  country,  that  these  miscreants  he  cut  off,  root  and  branch. 
See  that  this^  be  put  in  execution  without  fear  or  favour,  or 
you  may  expect  to  be  dealt  with  as  one  not  true  to  King 
or  Government,  nor  a  man  fit  to  carry  commission  in  the 
King's  service.  Expecting  you  wiD  not  fail  in  the  fulfilling 
hereof,  as  you  love  yourself — I  subscribe  this  with  my  hand 
at  Ballychylls  the  12th  Feb.  1G92.  Eobekt  Duncanson."— 
Major  liobert  Duncanson  to  Captain  Eobert  Campbell  of 
Glenlyon.'* 

We  now  return  to  the  deposition  of  John  and  Alexander 

^  Report,  33  ;  Highland  Tapers,  Maitlaiul  Club,  74. 

-  "  Do  on  no  account  escape  3'oiir  hands." — Higliland  Papei-s,  73. 

^  "5o  that  this,"  &c.  — Highhuul  Papers,  73. 

*  See  Higliland  Papers,  Maitland  Club,  72,  73,  for  two  copies  of  this  letter. 


THE    MASSACRE    OF   GLENCOE.  63 

Macdonald  as  to  the  course  of  events  in  Glencoe,  and  the  mode 
in  which  Glenlyon  executed  these  orders. 

"  But  on  the  13th  day  of  Feljruary,  being  Saturday,  about 
four  or  five  in  the  morning,  Lieutenant  Lindsay  -with  a  party 
of  the  foresaid  soldiers,  came  to  okl  Glenco's  house,  where, 
having  called  in  a  friendly  manner,  and  got  in,  they  shot  his 
father  dead,  with  several  shots,  as  he  was  rising  out  of  his  bed ; 
and  their  mother  having  got  up  and  put  on  her  clothes,  the 
soldiers  stripped  her  naked,  and  drew  the  rings  off  her  fingers 
with  their  teeth  ;  as  likewise  they  killed  one  man  more,  and 
wounded  another  grievously  at  the  same  place.  And  this 
relation  they  say  they  had  from  their  mother,  and  is  confirmed 
by  the  deposition  of  Archibald  Macdonald,  indweller  in  Glencf), 
who  further  depones  that  Glenco  was  shot  behind  his  back 
with  two  shots — one  through  the  head  and  another  through 
the  body  ;  and  two  more  were  killed  with  him  in  that  place, 
and  a  third  wounded  and  left  for  dead :  and  this  he  knows, 
because  he  came  that  same  day  to  Glenco  House,  and  saw  his 
dead  body  lying  before  the  door,  with  the  other  two  that  were 
killed,  and  spoke  with  the  third  that  was  wounded,  whose 
name  was  Duncan  Don,  who  came  there  occasionally  with 
letters  from  the  Brae  of  Mar." 

"  The  said  John  Macdonald,  eldest  son  to  the  deceased 
Glenco,  depones  :  The  same  morning  that  his  father  was  killed 
there  came  soldiers  to  his  house  before  day,  and  called  at  his 
window,  which  gave  him  the  alarm,  and  made  liim  go  to 
Innerriggen,  where  Glenlyon  was  quartered;  and  that  he 
found  Glenlyon  and  his  men  preparing  their  arms,  which  made 
the  deponent  ask  the  cause  ;  but  Glenlyon  gave  him  only  good 
words,  and  said  they  were  to  march  against  some  of  CJlen- 
garrie's  men ;  and  if  they  were  ill  intended,  would  he  not 
have  told  Sandy  and  his  niece  ? — meaning  the  deponent's 
brother  and  his  wife — which  made  the  deponent  go  home  and 
go  again  to  his  bed,  until  his  servant,  who  hindered  him  to 
sleep,  roused  him  ;  and  when  he  rose  and  went  out,  he  per- 
ceived about  twenty  men  coming  towards  his  house,  with 
their  bayonets  fixed  to  their  muskets  ;  whereupon  he  fled  to 
the  hill,  and  having  Auchnainn,  a  little  village  in  Glenco,  in 


04  TIIK    Ni:\V    "  MX  A  MEN. 

view,  he  heard  tl»e  sliots  wherewith  Aucliintriaten  and  four 
more  were  killed  ;  and  that  he  heard  also  the  shots  at  Inner- 
riggen,  where  Glenlyon  had  caused  to  kill  nine  more,  as  shall 
be  hereafter  declared;  and  this  is  confirmed  by  the  concurring 
deposition  of  Alexander  Macdonald,  his  brother,  whom  a 
servant  waked  out  of  sleep,  saying,  It  is  no  time  for  you  to 
be  sleeping  when  they  are  killing  your  brother  at  the  door  ; 
which  made  Alexander  to  flee  with  his  brother  to  the  hill, 
M'here  both  of  them  heard  the  foresaid  shots  at  Auchnaion 
and  Innerriggen.  And  the  said  John,  Alexander,  and  Archi- 
bald ^Macdonald  do  all  depone,  that  the  same  morning  there 
was  one  Serjeant  ]'>arber,  witli  a  party  at  Auchnaion,  and  that 
Achintriaten  being  there  in  his  brother's  house,  with  eiglit 
more  sitting  about  the  fire,  the  soldiers  disciiarged  upon  them 
about  eighteen  shots,  which  killed  Aucliintriaten  and  four 
more  ;  but  the  other  four,  whereof  some  were  wounded,  falling 
down  as  dead,  Serjeant  Barber,  laid  hold  of  Auchintriaten's 
brother,  one  of  the  four,  and  asked  him  if  he  were  alive  ?  He 
answered  that  he  was,  and  that  he  desired  to  die  without 
rather  than  within.  Barber  said,  that  for  his  meat  that  he 
had  eaten,  he  would  do  him  the  favour  to  kill  him  without ; 
but  when  the  man  was  brought  out,  and  soldiers  brought  up 
to  shoot  him,  he  having  his  plaid  loose,  flung  it  over  their 
faces,  and  so  escaped  ;  and  the  other  three  broke  through  the 
back  of  the  house,  and  escaped.  And  at  Innerriggen,  where 
Glenlyon  was  quartered,  the  soldiers  took  other  nine  men,  and 
did  bind  them  hand  and  foot,  and  killed  them  one  by  one  with 
shot ;  and  when  Glenlyon  inclined  to  save  a  young  man  of 
about  twenty  years  of  age,  one  Captain  Drummond  came  and 
asked  how  he  came  to  be  saved,  in  respect  of  the  order's  that 
were  given,  and  shot  him  dead.  And  another  young  boy,  of 
about  thirteen  years,  ran  to  Glenlyon  to  be  saved  ;  he  was 
likewise  shot  dead.  And  in  the  same  town  there  was  a 
woman,  and  a  boy  about  four  or  five  yeai-s  of  age,  killed.  And 
at  Auchnaion,  there  was  also  a  child  missed,  and  nothing 
found  of  him  but  the  hand.  There  were  likewise  several  killed 
at  other  places,  whereof  one  was  an  old  man  about  eighty  years 
of  age.  And  all  this,  the  deponents  say,  they  aftirm,  because  they 


THE    ^[ASSACRE    OF    GLENCOE.  G5 

heard  tlie  shot,  saw  the  dead  bodies,  and  had  an  account  from 
the  women  that  were  left.  And  Ronald  Macdonald,  indweller 
in  Glenco,  further  depones :  That  he,  being  living  with  his 
father  in  a  little  town  in  Glenco,  some  of  Glenlyon's  soldiers 
came  to  his  father's  house,  the  said  13th  day'of  February,  in 
the  morning,  and  dragged  his  father  out  of  his  bed,  and 
knocked  him  down  for  dead  at  the  door ;  which  the  deponent 
seeing,  made  his  escape ;  and  his  father  recovering  after  the 
soldiers  were  gone,  got  into  another  house ;  but  this  house 
was  shortly  burnt,  and  his  fatlier  burnt  in  it ;  and  the  de- 
ponent came  there  after  and  gathered  his  father's  bones  and 
buried  them.  He  also  declares,  that  at  Auchnaion,  where 
Auchintriaten  was  killed,  he  saw  the  body  of  Auchintriaten 
and  three  more  cast  out  and  covered  with  dung.  And  another 
witness  of  the  same  declares,  that  upon  the  same  13th  day  of 
February,  Glenlyon  and  Lieutenant  Lindsay,  and  their  soldiers, 
did,  in  the  morning  before  day,  fall  upon  the  people  of  Glenco, 
when  they  were  secure  in  their  beds,  and  killed  them  ;  and 
he  being  at  Innerriggen,  fled  with  the  first,  but  heard  shots, 
and  had  two  brothers  killed  there,  with  three  men  more  and  a 
woman,  who  were  all  buried  before  he  came  back.  And  all 
these  five  witnesses  concur  that  the  aforesaid  slaughter  was 
made  by  Glenlyon  and  his  soldiers,  after  they  had  been  quar- 
tered, and  lived  peaceably  and  friendly  with  the  Glenco  men 
about  thirteen  days,  and  that  the  number  of  those  whom  they 
knew  to  be  slain  were  about  twenty-five,  and  that  the  soldiers, 
after  the  slaughter,  did  burn  the  houses,  barns,  and  goods,  and 
carried  away  a  great  spoil  of  horse,  nolt,  and  sheep,  above 
1000.  And  James  Campbell,  soldier  in  the  castle  of  Stirling, 
depones  :  That  in  January  1692,  he  then  being  a  soldier  in 
Glenlyon's  company,  marched  with  the  company  from  Inver- 
lochie  to  Glenco,  where  the  company  was  quartered,  anil  very 
kindly  entertained  for  the  space  of  fourteen  days  ;  that  he 
knew  nothing  of  the  design  of  killing  the  Glenco  men  till  the 
morning  that  the  slaughter  was  committed,  at  which  time 
Glenlyon  and  Captain  Drummond's  companies  were  drawn  out 
in  several  parties,  and  got  orders  from  Glenlyon  and  tlieir 
other  officers  to  slmot   and   kill   all   the  couutiymen  the}  nut 

E 


66  rm;  nmow  "  examen." 

with  ;  aiul  tliiit  the  deponent,  being  one  oi'  the  party  which 
was  at  the  town  where  Glenlyon  had  his  quarters,  did  see 
several  men  drawn  out  of  their  beds,  and  particularly  he  did 
see  Glenlyon's  own  landlord  shot  by  his  order,  and  a  young 
boy  about  twelve  years  of  age,  who  endeavoured  to  save  him- 
self by  taking  hold  of  Glenlyon,  offering  to  go  anywhere  with 
him  if  he  would  spare  his  life  ;  and  was  shot  dead  by  Captain 
Drummond's  order.  And  the  deponent  did  see  about  eight 
persons  killed  and  several  houses  burned,  and  women  flying 
to  the  hills  to  save  their  lives.  And  lastly,  Sir  Colin  Camp- 
bell of  Aberuchil  depones  :  that  after  the  slaughter,  Glenlyon 
told  him  that  Macdonald  of  Innerriggen  was  killed  with  the 
rest  of  the  Glenco  men,  with  Colonel  Hill's  pass  or  protec- 
tion in  his  pocket,  which  a  soldier  brought  and  showed  to 
Glenlyon." 

Some  circumstances  still  remain  strangely  obscure.  We 
have  been  unable  to  discover  whether  the  clan  gave  up  their 
arms  when  they  made  their  submission  to  the  Government. 
It  is  difficult  to  suppose  that  a  fact  which  would  add  so 
greatly  to  the  atrocity  of  the  deed  should  have  been  passed 
over  unnoticed ;  yet  it  is  equally  difficult  to  suppose  that  a 
body  of  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  men,  trained  to  arms,  should 
have  permitted  themselves,  their  wives,  and  children,  to  be 
butchered  without  striking  a  single  blow  in  their  defence; 
and  unequal  as  the  numbers  were,  and  sudden  as  was  the 
attack,  it  can  hardly  be  supposed  that  such  defence  would 
have  been  wholly  without  effect. 

Another  point  which  has  never  been  cleared  up,  relates  to  the 
plunder  of  the  glen  by  the  troops.  The  soldiers  of  William, 
who,  according  to  Lord  j\Iacaulay,  were  executing  justice  upon 
thieves  and  marauders,  did  not  content  themselves  with  mur- 
der, but  added  the  crimes  of  robbery  and  arson.  The  flocks 
and  herds,  the  only  movables  of  value,  were  swept  away,  and 
all  that  could  not  be  removed  was  ruthlessly  burned.  The 
plunder  was  considerable — above  a  thousand  head  of  cattle, 
horses,  and  sheep  rewarded  the  murderers.  Of  this  they 
appear  to  have  retained  quiet  possession ;  at  least  we  can 
nowhere    trace    any  act    of  restitution.     The   Parliament    of 


THE    MASSACRE    OF    GLENCOE.  C7 

Scotland  addressed  the  King,  recommending  that  some  re- 
paration might  be  made  to  the  survivors  of  the  massacre  for 
their  losses,  and  "  such  orders  given  for  supplying  their  neces- 
sities as  his  majesty  should  think  fit."  William  was  deaf  to 
their  prayer.  The  only  effect  was  the  remission  of  a  cess 
which  had  been  imposed  upon  the  valley,  and  which  they 
appear  to  have  been  utterly  unable  to  pay.^ 

Such  is  the  story  of  the  IMassacre  of  Glencoe.  Lord  Macaulay 
observes :  "  It  may  be  thought  strange  that  these  events 
should  not  have  been  followed  by  a  burst  of  execration  from 
every  part  of  the  civilised  world."  ^  It  would  have  been 
strange,  indeed,  had  they  passed  unnoticed.  Official  publi- 
cation in  England  was  of  course  suppressed.  The  London 
Gazettes,  the  monthly  Mercuries,  and  the  licensed  pamphlets 
were  silent.  But  the  '  Paris  Gazette '  of  April  1692,  under 
date  of  the  23d  March  (less  than  six  weeks  after  the  event), 
has  the  following  announcement : — 

"  D'Edimbourg,  23  Mars  1G92. 

"  Le  Laird  de  Glencow  a  est6  massacre  depuis  quelques 
jours,  de  la  mani^re  la  plus  barbare,  quoij  qu'il  sc  fust  soihnis 
cm  Gouvernemcnt  present.  Le  Laird  de  Glenlion,  capitaine  dans 
le  regiment  d'Argyle,  suivant  I'ordre  expres  du  Colonel  Hill, 
gouverneur  d'lnverlochie,  se  transporta  la  nuit  ii  Glencow, 
avec  un  corps  de  troupes ;  et  les  soldats  estant  entrez  dans 
les  maisons,  tiierent  le  Laird  de  Glencow,  deux  de  ses  fils, 
trente  six  hommes  ou  enfans  et  quatre  femmes. 

"  lis  avoient  rdsolu  d'exterminer  ainsi  le  reste  des  habitans, 
nonohstant  ramnestie  qui  le^ir  avoit  este  acconUe :  niais  environ 
deux  cents  se  sauv^rent.  On  fait  courir  le  bruit  qu'il  a  estr 
tu6  dans  une  ambuscade  les  armes  k  la  main,  pour  diniinucr 
I'horreur  d'une  action  si  barbare,  capable  de  faire  connoistre  a 
toute  la  nation,  le  pcu  de  surete  qu'il  y  a  dans  les  paroles  de 
cuix  qui  gouvernement."  ^ 

Lord  Macaulay  cites  this  passage  in  the  following  words 

'  Jligliliiiul  Papers,  Mait.  CI.  '■^  Vol.  iv.  213. 

=»  Paris  Gazetto,  12  Avril  1G92. 


68  riiH  m:\v  "  kxamen." 

"The  Jacubite  version,  written  at  Jiidinljurgli  on  the  '2'.'>d 
of  March,  appeared  in  the  *  Paris  Gazette '  of  the  7th 
of  April.  (Jlciilyon,  it  was  said,  had  been  sent  witli  a 
detachment  from  Arj,'yle's  regiment,  under  cover  of  dark- 
ness, to  surprise  the  inhabitants  of  Glencoe,  and  liad  killed 
thirty-six  men  and  boys  and  four  women  ;  "  and  adds,  "  In 
this  there  was  nothing  very  strange  or  shocking." '  We  con- 
fess ourselves  wholly  unable  to  understand  this.  If  murder 
committed  in  violation  of  pledged  faith  is  not  shocking,  we 
should  be  glad  to  know  what  is.  The  Gazette  which  Lord 
-Macaulay  quotes,  and  which  he  must  therefore  be  presumed 
to  have  read,  states  that  Glencoe  had  "  submitted  himself  to 
the  existing  Government;"  that  the  attack  was  made  under 
cover  of  night,  and  upon  peaceful  people ;  that  women  and 
children  were  slaughtered  ;  and  that  the  intention  was  to  "  ex- 
terminate "  the  whole  of  the  inhabitants,  "  in  breach  of  an 
amnesty  which  had  been  granted  to  them." 

Nobody  suspects  Lord  jMacaulay  of  inhumanity,  or  of  a 
want  of  sympathy  with  the  innocent  victims  of  cruelty  and 
treachery ;  but  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  his  eager  par- 
tisanship should  have  led  him  to  adopt  a  course  of  argument, 
and  to  make  use  of  expressions,  from  which  it  might  be 
inferred  that  he  was  deficient  in  qualities  which,  it  is  well 
known,  he  possesses  in  a  high  degree. 

A  detailed  and  very  accurate  account,  entitled  "A  Letter 
from  a  Gentleman  in  Scotland  to  his  Friend  in  London,"  &c., 
dated  April  20,  1692,  next  appeared.  Lord  Macaulay  inti- 
mates his  opinion  that  this  letter  was  not  published  until  the 
following  year,  and  reminds  his  readers  that  the  date  of  1692 
was  at  that  time  used  down  to  the  2oth  March  1693.  But 
Lord  Macaulay  has  failed  to  obsei-ve  that  the  date  of  tlie 
letter  is  April,  and  April  1692  was  always  April  1692. 

It  is  no  doubt  difficult  to  fix  the  precise  date — great 
obstacles  were  thrown  in  the  way  of  publication.  But  the 
contents  of  the  letter  were  certainly  known  in  London  before 
June  1692,  for  in  that  mouth  Charles  Leslie,  the  writer  of  the 
'  Gallienus   Bedivivus,'  went  in  consequence  of  this  letter  to 

1  Vol.  iv.  214. 


THE    MASSACKE    OF    GLENCOE.  69 

Brentford,  where  Glenlyon  and  ]Jrummond,  with  the  rest  of 
Lord  Argyle's  regiment,  were  quartered,  and  tliere  heard  the 
account  of  the  massacre  from  the  soldiers  who  liad  been  actors 
in  it,  one  of  whom  said,  "  Glencoe  hangs  about  Glenlyon 
night  and  day  ;  you  may  see  him  in  his  face."  ^ 

It  is  strange  that  Lord  Macaulay,  who  is  not  scrupulous  as 
to  the  sacrifices  he  makes  for  the  sake  of  the  picturesque, 
should  have  lost  the  poetry  of  this  passage  by  using  a  doubt- 
ful term,  substituting  a  place  for  a  person,  and  a  prosaic  para- 
phrase for  the  simple  words  and  poetical  imagination  of  the 
Highlander  who  saw  the  image  of  the  murdered  man  reflected 
in  the  face  of  his  murderer.- 

The  *  Gallieuus  Eedivivus,'  which.  Lord  Macaulay  says, 
"  speedily  followed,"  did  not  appear  until  after  the  execution 
of  the  commission  in  1695.  Lord  INIacaulay  bestows  a  note^ 
upon  the  singular  name  of  this  pamphlet,  which  deserves 
a  passing  notice,  as  it  betrays  the  care  with  which  he  has 
availed  himself  of  every  opportunity  to  divert  indignation 
from  William  to  the  Master  of  Stair.  He  says,"*  "  An  un- 
learned, and  indeed  a  learned  reader,  may  be  at  a  loss  to  guess 
why  the  Jacobites  should  have  selected  so  strange  a  title  for  a 
pamphlet  on  the  Massacre  of  Glencoe."  The  reader,  learned 
or  unlearned,  who  found  himself  at  any  loss  in  the  matter, 
must  be  singularly  stupid,  inasmuch  as  the  reason  is  fully 
stated  at  page  107  of  the  pamphlet,  where  a  parallel  is  drawn 
between  William  and  the  Emperor  Gallienus,  and  a  compari- 
son instituted  between  the  "  extirpation  "  order  of  the  former 
and  a  letter  of  the  Emperor  to  Venianus.  This  letter,  which 
the  writer  of  the  pamphlet  quotes,  and  which  Gibl)on  describes 
as  •"  a  most  savage  mandate  from  Gallienus  to  one  of  his 
ministers  after  the  suppression  of  Ingenuus,  who  had  assumed 
the  purple  in  Illyricum,"  •'  concludes,  Lord  ^Macaulay  tells  us, 

'  rial.  Rod.,  'J2. 

-  Lord  Jlacaulay's  woid.s  are  as  follows:  "  Some  of  his  soldiers,  however, 
who  observed  him  closely,  whispered  that  all  this  bravery  was  put  on.  He  was 
not  the  man  that  he  had  been  before  that  night.  The  form  of  his  countenance 
was  changed.  In  all  places,  at  all  hours,  whether  he  waked  or  slept,  Glencoe 
was  for  ever  before  him." — Vol.  iv.  21G. 

='  Sec  note,  p.  213.         ^  Vol.  iv.  213.         *  Gibbon,  Decline  and  Fall,  i.  412. 


70  THK    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

with  the  roUovviiig  words  :  "  Language  to  wliich,"  lie  says, 
"  that  of  the  Mrustcr  of  Stair  bore  but  too  much  reseniblftnce  ;  " 
"  Noil  inihi  satisfacies,  si  tantum  amiatos  occideris,  fj[UOS  et 
fors  belli  interimere  potuisset.  reriinendus  est  omiiis  sexus 
virilis.  Oecidendus  est  quicunque  maledixit.  Occidendus  est 
quicuiKiue  male  voluit.  Lacera.  Occide.  Coneide."  ^  Deal- 
ing,' with  a  book  which  is  in  the  hands  of  so  few  as  the  'Gal- 
lienus  liedivivus,'  Lord  Macaulay's  treatment  of  this  passage  is 
hardly  fair.  The  ]>arallel  drawn  by  the  writer  is  not,  as  the 
reader  of  Lord  Macaulay  might  be  led  to  suppose,  between 
Gallienus  and  the  Master  of  Stair,  but,  as  we  have  already 
stated,  between  Gallienus  and  AVilliam.  The  passage  is  given 
entire  in  the  pamphlet  as  follows,  the  words  which  we  put  in 
italics  being  omitted  by  Lord  ^Macaulay :  "  Non  mihi  satis- 
facies, si  tantum  armatos  occideris,  quos  et  fors  belli  interimere 
potuisset.  Perimendus  est  omnis  sexus  virilis,  si  et  sencs  atque 
impuheres  sine  rcprehensione  nostra  occidi  possent.  Occidendus 
est  quicunque  male  voluit.  Occidendus  est  quicunque  male 
dixit  contra  me,  contra  Vakriani  jilium,  contra  tot  principv.m 
patrem  ct  fratrcm.  Ingenuus  /actus  est  imperator.  Lacera, 
occide,  concide :  animtom  mewni  intelligere  poles,  mea  mentc 
irasccre  qui  hccc  manu  mea  scripsi." 

The  order  to  "  exterminate "  without  sparing  either  age  or 
youth,  the  signature  of  the  letter  by  the  very  hand  of  the 
emperor,  the  expressions  which  peculiarly  mark  it  as  his  own 
personal  act,  as  the  immediate  emanation  of  his  own  mind,  are 
omitted  by  Lord  Macaulay,  who  substitutes  the  Master  of 
Stair  for  "William,  and  his  letters  for  the  "  extirpation  "  order, 
and  garbles  the  quotation  to  make  it  fit. 

We  owe  the  knowledge  we  derive  of  the  massacre  from  the 
evidence  taken  before  the  commission  to  a  fortunate  combina- 
tion of  circumstances. 

The  excitement  of  public  feeling  rendered  it  impossible  for 
William  to  resist  the  demand  for  inquiry,  and  the  jealousy  of 
Johnston  made  that  inquiry  searching  and  complete,  with  the 
view  of  destroying  his  colleague,  the  Master  of  Stair.  We 
agree  with  Tx)rd  Macaulay,  that  the  report  of  the  commission 

1  Mac,  iv.  213. 


THE    MASSACRE    OF    GLENCOE.  7l 

is  an  "  excellent  digest  of  evidence."  ^  The  character  of 
"  austere  justice,"  which  he  claims  for  it,  we  wholly  deny. 
"  The  conclusion,"  says  Lord  Macaulay,  "  to  which  the  com- 
mission came,  and  in  which  every  intelligent  and  candid  in- 
quirer vAll  concur,  was  that  the  slaughter  of  Glencoe  was  a 
barbarous  murder,  and  tliat  of  this  barbarous  murder  the  letters 
of  the  Master  of  Stair  were  the  sole  warrant  and  causey  ^  At 
the  risk  of  having  our  intelligence  or  our  candour  denied  by 
Lord  Macaulay,  we  are  compelled  to  dissent  from  the  latter 
portion  of  this  judgment.  Admitting  in  its  full  extent  the 
atrocity  of  these  letters,  they  formed,  in  our  opinion,  but  a 
small  and  secondary  part  of  the  cause  of  the  slaughter.  There 
was  another  gi-eater  than  Stair,  or  than  Breadalbane,  who 
must,  according  to  the  "  austere  justice  "  of  history,  bear  a 
larger  share  of  the  responsibility  for  this  great  crime  than 
either  of  them.  Lord  Macaulay  misleads  his  readers,  and  ob- 
scures the  question,  by  treating  the  slaughter,  when  it  suits 
his  purpose,  as  the  exercise  of  a  wild  and  irregular  justice 
against  a  band  of  murderers  and  freebooters.  To  prepare  the 
mind  of  the  reader,  he  evokes  from  past  centuiies  horrible 
tales  of  outrages  committed  by  the  remote  ancestors  of  the 
IVIacdonalds  of  Glengarry  on  the  people  of  Culloden,  by  the 
inhabitants  of  Eig  on  the  ^lacleods,  and  by  the  Macleods 
again  on  the  people  of  Eig.  He  narrates  a  story,  unsupported 
by  a  single  tittle  of  evidence,  of  IM'Ian  having  at  some  former 
period  executed,  with  his  own  hand,  the  wild  justice  of  the 
tribe  on  a  member  of  his  own  clan.^  He  likens  the  jMac- 
donalds  to  the  mosstroopers  of  the  Border  and  the  banditti 
of  the  Apennines,  to  the  savages  of  Caffraria  and  Borneo,  to 
Amakosah  cattle-stealers  and  ]\Lalay  pirates,  and  describes 
them  as  marauders  who,  in  any  well-governed  country,  would 
have  been  hanged  thirty  years  before."  ^  Lord  ]\Iacaulay  is  an 
accomplished  advocate,  and  is  well  aware  of  the  effect  that  de- 

1  Vol.  iv,  574.  -  IM.l. 

^  This  story  \v:i.s  lirst  told  by  Dalryniiik-  in  1771.  There  is  no  truce  wliat- 
evcr  of  it  to  be  iliscovercd  in  tin-  contemporary  proceedings,  where,  no  doubt, 
it  would  have  l)pen  found,  had  there  been  even  the  slij,'htcst  foundation  for  it. 

^  Vul.  iv.  197,  200,  203,  215. 


72  TIIK    Ni;W    "  KXA.MKN. 

(•l;iiii;itinii  (i|  lliis  kind  will  ih'imIiicc  (tii  tln'  iiiiinls  of  iiiiu'  <iul 
(illcn  of  liis  iviidors.  The  tenth  man  knows  tliat  he  has  the 
testimony  of  Colonel  Hill  to  the  quiet,  peaceable,  and  honest 
dem(!anour  of  the  Highlanders;  and  the  conclusive  fact,  that 
during  the  whole  of  the  inquiry,  though  abundance  of  liard 
langunge  was  used,  there  was  no  attempt  to  bring  even  a 
single  charge  of  any  offence  whatever  against  the  Macdonalds 
of  Glencoe.  This  puts  an  end  at  once  to  any  defence  of 
William's  "extirpation"  order,  grounded  on  the  supposition  of 
its  being  directed  against  civil  offenders.  We  may  therefore 
confine  our  attention  to  the  inquiry  into  how  far  it  was  justi- 
fied, and  who  was  responsible  for  it  as  a  militaiy  act. 

The  rarliament  of  Scotland  found  the  slaughter  to  be 
murder,  and  demanded  that  Glenlyon,  Drummond,  the  Lynd- 
says,  and  Sergeant  Barber  should  be  sent  home  to  be  prose- 
cuted for  the  crime  of  murder  under  trust.  Lord  !Macaulay 
says  that  the  Parliament  was  here  severe  in  the  wrong  place  ;^ 
that  the  crimes  of  these  men,  horrible  as  they  were,  were 
nevertheless  not  the  fitting  subject  of  punishment,  inasmuch 
as  each  was  compelled  to  act  as  he  had  done  by  the  subor- 
dination necessary  in  an  army.  Lord  IMacaulay  nins  up  the 
ladder  of  responsibility  from  the  sergeant  to  the  ensign,  and 
so  on  up  to  Glenlyon,  and  from  him  to  his  colonel,  Hamilton ; 
but  he  appears  to  have  overlooked  the  conclusion  to  which 
this  argument  necessarily  leads.  If  Glenlyon  was  justified  by 
the  order  of  Hamilton,  Hamilton  was  in  like  manner  justified 
by  the  order  of  Livingstone.  Thus  we  reach  the  commander- 
in-chief.  Does  the  responsibility  rest  there  ?  If  it  did,  loud 
would  have  been  the  cry  of  vengeance  for  innocent  blood  ; 
yet  the  Scottish  Parliament  acquitted  Livingstone,  and  Lord 
Macaulay  passes  him  over  unnoticed.  That  the  slaughter  in 
Glencoe  was  a  barbarous  murder,  murder  under  trust,  the 
foulest  and  highest  degree  of  crime,  all  are  agreed.  W^e  have 
traced  the  responsibility  up  to  the  commander-in-chief ;  who 
was /iw  superior?  Not  the  Master  of  Stair.  The  Secretary 
of  State  for  Scotland  has  no  authority  in  military  matters 
over  the  commander-in-chief,  except  so  far  as  he  is  the  mouth- 

>  Vol.  iv.  576. 


THE    MASSACRE    OF   GLENCOE.  73 

piece  of  the  King.  Livingstone  derived  his  orders  direct  from 
William.  If  he  exceeded  those  orders,  the  blood-guiltiness 
rests  on  his  head.  It  is  of  no  avail  for  him  to  say,  "  I  obeyed 
the  Master  of  Stair,"  unless  the  Master  of  Stair  spoke  and 
wrote  as  the  agent  of  the  King ;  and  if  he  did,  his  orders  were 
William's  orders.  The  Parliament  of  Scotland  voted  that  the 
order  signed  by  William  did  not  authorise  the  slaughter  of 
Glencoe.  If  Johnson's  Dictionary  had  been  in  existence,  and 
if  they  had  consulted  it  to  discover  the  meaning  of  the  King's 
words,  they  would  have  found  that  his  design  was  to  "  root 
out,  to  eradicate,  to  exscind,  to  destroy,"  and  the  following 
example  given  :  "  We  in  vain  endeavour  to  drive  the  wolf 
from  our  own  to  another's  door ;  the  breed  ought  to  he  extir- 
pated out  of  the  island!'  ^  It  would  be  difficult  to  point  out 
any  passage  in  the  Master  of  Stair's  letters  which  exceeds 
this.  Inhuman  as  they  are,  they  add  nothing  to  the  plain 
and  simple  words  of  the  order.  Tlie  execution  certainly 
fell  far  short.  Instead  of  "  extirpation,"  not  more  than  about 
one -tenth  part  of  the  clan  was  destroyed.  Here,  then, 
following  out  Lord  Macaulay's  own  principle,  we  are  led 
inevitably  to  the  conclusion  that  the  responsibility  rests  with 
William.  The  only  escape  is  the  one  suggested  by  lUirnet 
— namely,  that  William  affixed  his  signature  to  a  paper  pre- 
sented to  him  by  Stair  and  Breadalbane,  in  ignorance  of  its 
contents.  We  have  already  shown  how  entirely  this  hypo- 
thesis is  unsupported  by  evidence,  how  strong  the  presump- 
tions are  against  it.  But  there  remains  one  piece  of  evidence, 
which  to  our  minds  is  conclusive.  Had  William  been  thus 
entrapped,  how  terrible  would  have  been  his  wrath  when  he 
discovered  the  crime  to  which  he  had  been  unwittingly  made 
a  party  !  How  signal  his  vengeance  on  the  traitors  Stair  and 
Breadalbane !  Instead  of  this,  we  find  that,  when  he  was 
obliged  to  dismiss  Stair  from  office  in  compliance  with  public 
opinion  and  the  intrigues  of  his  colleagues,  instead  of  handing 
him  over  to  justice,  consigning  him  to  the  trial,  the  conviction, 
and  the  death  of  shame,  which  he  most  unquestionably  would 
have   deserved,  he  grants  Iiim    full  pardon,   immunity,  and 

'  Locke. 


71  TlfK    NKW    "  KXAMFCN. 

liKttfcti'iii  Inr  all  his  ,'icts,  and  especially  for  his  share  in  the 
8lau;;hter  of  the  men  of  Glcncoo. 

We  are  not  aware  that  the  following  document  has  been 
cited  in  any  liistory  of  the  massacre :  to  us  it  appears  conclu- 
sive of  the  original  participation  of  William  in  that  great 
crime : — 

"  Scroll  of  Discharge  to  John  Viscount  Stair." 

"  His  majesty,  considering  that  John  Viscount  of  Stair  hath 
been  employed  in  his  majesty's  service  for  many  years,  and 
in  several  capacities,  first  as  his  majesty's  Advocate,  and 
thereafter  as  Secretary  of  State,  in  which  eminent  employ- 
ments persons  are  in  danger,  either  by  exceeding  or  coming 
short  of  their  duty,  to  foil  under  the  severities  of  law,  and 
become  obnoxious  to  prosecutions  or  trouble  therefor ;  and  his 
majesty  being  well  satisfied  that  the  said  Viscount  of  Stair 
hath  rendered  him  many  faithful  services,  and  being  well 
assured  of  his  affection  and  good  intentions,  and  being  gra- 
ciously pleased  to  pardon,  cover,  and  secure  him  now  after  the 
demission  of  his  office,  and  that  he  is  divested  of  public 
employment,  from  all  questions,  prosecutions,  and  trouble 
whatsoever ;  and  particularly  his  majesty,  considering  that  the 
manner  of  execution  of  the  men  of  Glenco  was  contrary  to  the 
laws  of  humanity  and  hospitality,  being  done  by  those  soldiers 
who  for  some  days  before  had  been  quartered  amongst  them 
and  entertained  by  them,  which  was  a  fault  in  the  actors,  or 
those  who  gave  the  immediate  orders  on  the  place.  But  that 
the  said  Viscoimt  of  Stair,  then  Secretary  of  State,  being  at 
London,  many  hundred  miles  distant,  he  could  have  no  know- 
ledge of  nor  accession  to  the  method  of  that  execution  ;  and 
his  majesty  being  willing  to  pardon,  forgive,  and  remit  any 
excess  of  zeal  or  going  beyond  his  instructions  by  the  said 
John  Viscount  of  Stair,  and  that  he  had  no  hand  in  the  bar- 
barous manner  of  execution;  therefore  his  majesty  ordains  a 
letter  of  remission  to  be  made,  and  passed  his  great  seal  of  his 
majesty's  antient  kingdom,  &c.,  and  particularly  any  excess, 
crime,  or  fault  done  or  committed  by  the  said  John  Viscount 
of  Stair  in  that  matter  of  Glenco,  and  doth  exoncr,  discharge, 


THE    MASSACRE    OF    GLENCOE.  7o 

pardon,   indemnify,  and    remit   tlie   said   John   Viscount   of 
Stair,"  &c} 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  the  very  gentle  censure  contained 
in  this  document  is  confined  entirely  to  "  the  manner  of  execu- 
tion." The  King  shows  no  disapproval  whatever  either  of  the 
order — his  signature  to  which,  Burnet  says,  was  obtained  by 
the  fraud  of  Stair — or  of  those  letters  which  Lord  JNIacaulay 
asserts  to  have  been  the  "  sole  warrant  and  cause  of  this  bar- 
barous murder."  If  anything  were  wanting  to  prove  without 
a  possibility  of  doubt  the  King's  participation  in  the  crime,  it 
would  be  supplied  by  the  fact  that  this  "  Scroll  of  Discharge  " 
is  immediately  followed  by  a  grant  from  William  of  the  teiud 
duties  and  others  of  the  regality  of  Glenluce,  as  a  "  mark  of 
his  favour  to  John  Viscount  Stair." 

None  of  the  actors  in  the  transaction,  so  far  as  we  are 
aware,  incurred  any  marks  of  the  displeasure  of  the  King. 
They  appear  to  have  led  prosperous  lives :  Colonel  Hill  be- 
comes Sir  John  ;  Glenlyon,  when  he  reappears  on  the  page  of 
history,  is  a  colonel ;  Livingstone  becomes  Lord  Teviot.^  The 
Master  of  Stair,  though  withdrawn  for  a  time  from  active  em- 
ployment, in  obedience  to  the  voice  of  the  Parliament  and  public 
opinion,  was,  as  we  have  seen,  rewarded  by  William,  and  not 
many  years  afterwards  reappears  an  earl  instead  of  a  viscount. 

We  do  not  think  that  it  is  a  task  of  any  great  difficulty  to 
measure  out  the  degree  of  responsibility  which  fairly  attaches 
to  each  of  the  actors  in  this  horrible  tragedy. 

First  comes  the  King.  lie  had  not  the  excuse,  poor  as  it 
may  be,  that  he  was  urged  on  by  personal  wrong  and  ani- 
mosity, like  Breadalbane ;  or  by  chagrin  and  disappointment 
at  the  failure  of  a  favourite  scheme,  like  the  Master  of  Stair. 
We  cannot  doubt  that  William's  signature  was  affixed  to  the 
order  with  full  knowledge  of  the  facts,  and  that  his  intention 
was  to  strike  terror  into  the  Highlanders  by  tlie  "  extirpation  " 
of  a  clan  too  weak  to  offer  any  effectual  resistance,  but 
important  enough  to  serve  as  a  formidable  example. 

1  Papers  Illustrative  of  the  Higlilamls  of  Scollainl,  Maitlaiul  Clul). 
•■' Life  of  William  III.,  357. 


70  TMF-:    Ni;W    "  KXAMKN. 

Next  conic  liicadiilbano  and  the  Master  of  Stair,  V)etwecn 
wilt  nil  the  scales  balance  so  nicely  that  it  is  liard  to  say  to 
which  the  lar<,'cr  share  of  execration  is  due, 

Livingstone,  Hamilton,  Duncanson,  Drummond,  Glenlyon 
and  his  subalterns,  must  share  amongst  themselves  the  respon- 
sibility for  the  peculiar  circumstances  of  treacliery  and  breach 
of  hospitality  attendant  upon  the  execution.  For  this  we 
think  neither  William,  Breadalbane,  nor  the  Master  of  Stair 
can  justly  be  hold  answerable. 

The  blundering  partisans  of  the  day  attempted  to  make 
light  of  the  atrocity  of  the  slaughter.  Lord  Macaulay  is  too 
skilful  and  too  humane  to  be  betrayed  even  by  his  parti- 
sanship into  supporting  so  false  an  issue.  He  denounces 
the  crime  with  unsparing  severity.  But  by  suppression,  by 
so})hism,  by  all  the  arts  which  are  questionable  in  an  advocate 
and  intolerable  in  a  judge,  he  seeks  to  obtain  a  verdict  of 
acquittal  for  William — to  limit  his  culpability  to  his  remiss- 
ness in  failing  to  bring  the  Master  of  Stair  to  ju.stice,  and, 
by  dwelling  in  strong  terms  on  the  minor  offence,  to  keep  out 
of  view  his  participation  in  the  far  deeper  guilt  of  the  original 
crime.  The  readers  of  the  '  Decameron  '  know  by  what  means 
San  Ciappelletto  obtained  canonisation  ;  the  readers  of  Lord 
Maca\ilay's  History  see  how  the  meed  of  justice  and  humanity 
may  be  awarded  to  the  murderer  of  Glencoe.  Tliey  may  com- 
pare the  portrait  of  Marlborough  with  the  portrait  of  William, 
and  judge  what  fidelity  is  likely  to  be  found  in  the  rest  of 
Lord  ^lacaulay's  picture-gallery. 


77 


III. 

LORD  MACAULAY  AND  THE  HIGHLANDS  OF  SCOTLAND.i 

The  genealogy  of  Peers  is  public  property.  Without  goiug 
the  length  of  saying,  as  has  been  said,  that  more  Englisli  men 
and  women  read  the  '  Peerage '  than  the  Bible,  it  is  still  true 
that  it  is  a  volume  of  whose  contents  most  persons  have  some 
knowledge.  Lord  Macaulay's  pedigree  is  one  of  which  no 
man  need  be  ashamed,  and  of  which  many  would  be  proud. 
His  paternal  grandfather  w\as  the  Highland  minister  of  a 
Highland  parish,  with  a  Highland  wife  and  Highland  chil- 
dren, one  of  whom,  Zachariah  by  name,  following  the  example 
of  his  forefathers,  descended  into  the  Lowlands  to  gather  gear, 
not  by  lifting  cows,  but  by  peaceful  trade.  The  youthful 
Zachariah  found  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the  daughter  of  a 
Bristol  Quaker  who  supplied  the  serious  and  respectable 
society  to  which  he  belonged  with  such  literature  as  was 
acceptable  to  Friends,  the  call  for  which  was  not,  however,  so 
pressing  as  to  prevent  the  grandsire  of  the  future  essayist  of 
the  *  Edinburgh  Eeview '  from  employing  his  talents  in  peri- 
odical composition,  and  cultivating  literary  pursuits  as  the 
editor  of  a  provincial  paper. 

Meantime  the  loves  of  the  young  Highlander  and  tlie  fair 
Quakeress  prospered,  and  from  their  union  sprang  Thomas 
Babington  Macaulay,  Baron  Macaulay  of  liothley,  in  the 
county  of  Leicester,  the  libeller  of  William  Penn,  and  llie 
lampooner  of  the  Highlands.  With  Higliland  and  (i>uaker 
blood  flowing  in  equal  currents  through  liis  veins,  it  is  ditli- 
cult  to  say  whether  a  Higlilander  or  a  Quaker  is  the  more 
favourite  object  of  his  satire  and  butt  for  the  sliafts  of  his 

'  I'.laikwooil's  Miif,':iziiio,  Auj,'.  1851). 


7h  tiik  nkw  "  kxamen. 

ri.liriilc;  wlictlicr  CJcor^^o  Fox  or  C(;]l  of  the  Cows  comes  in 
lui-  tlio  larger  shiirc  of  liis  contempt;  whether  the  enthusiast 
who  felt  himself  (liviiuily  moved  to  take  off  what  wc  are  in 
the  hiihit  of  considering  as  the  most  essential  of  all  garments, 
and  to  walk  in  tlie  simplicity  of  nature  through  the  town  of 
Skii»t()n,  or  the  native  of  the  CJrampians,  who  never  possessed 
such  an  article  of  dress  at  all,  is  the  niftre  ridiculous  in  his 
eyes  ;  whether,  in  short,  he  despises  most  those  who  gave 
hirth  to  his  father  or  his  mother.  It  is  with  the  paternal 
ancestors  of  the  historian  that  we  have  at  present  to  do.  No 
(piarrel  is  so  bitter  as  a  family  quarrel  :  when  a  man  takes  to 
abusing  his  father  or  his  mother,  he  does  it  with  infinitely 
greater  gusto  than  a  mere  stranger.  Lord  !Macaulay's  descrip- 
tion of  the  Highlands  is  accordingly  so  vituperative,  so  spiteful, 
so  grotesque — it  displays  such  command  of  the  language  of 
hatred,  and  such  astounding  power  of  abuse,  that,  coming  as 
it  does  from  a  writer  who  challenges  a  place  by  the  side  of 
Hume  and  Gibbon,  it  takes  the  breath  away,  and  one  feels 
almost  as  one  would  on  receiving  a  torrent  of  blasphemy  from 
a  Bishop,  or  ribaldry  from  a  Judge,  or  a  volley  of  oaths  from 
a  young  lady  whose  crinoline  one  had  just  piloted,  with  the 
utmost  respect,  tenderness,  and  difficulty,  to  her  place  at  the 
dinner-table.  Lord  Macaulay  tells  us  that  in  the  days  of  our 
great-grandfathers^ — that  is  to  say,  when  his  own  grandfather 
M-as  just  beginning  to  "  wag  his  pow  "  in  a  Highland  pulpit — 
if  an  Englishman  "  condescended  to  think  of  a  Highlander  at 
all,"  he  thought  of  him  only  as  a  "  filthy  abject  savage,  a  slave, 
a  Papist,  a  cut-throat,  and  a  thief ; "  -  that  the  dress  of  even 
the  Highland  "  gentleman "  was  "  hideous,  ridiculous,  nay, 
grossly  indecent ; "  that  it  was  "  begrimed  with  the  accumu- 
lated filth  of  years  ; "  that  he  dwelt  in  a  "  hovel  which  smelt 
worse  than  an  English  hog-stye  ;"^  that  he  considered  a  "stab 
in  the  back,  or  a  shot  from  behind  a  rock,  the  approved  mode 
of  taking  satisfaction  for  an  insult ; "  that  a  traveller  who 
ventured  into  the  "  hideous  wilderness  "  which  he  inhabited, 
would  find  "  dens  of  robbers  "  instead  of  inns  ;  that  he  would 
be  in  imminent  danger  of  being  murdered  or  starved  ;    of 

>  Vol.  iii.  300.  2  p  309.  ^  p.  304,  311. 


THE    HIGHLANDS    OF    SCOTLAND.  79 

"  falling  two  thousand  feet  perpendicular  "  from  a  precipice  ; 
of  being  compelled  to  "  run  for  his  life  "  from  the  "  boiling 
waves  of  a  torrent "  which  suddenly  "  whirled  away  his  bag- 
gage ; "  ^  that  he  would  find  in  the  glens  "  corpses  which 
marauders  had  just  stripped  and  mangled;"  that  "his  own 
eyes  "  would  probably  afford  "  the  next  meal  to  the  eagles  " 
which  screamed  over  his  head ;  that  if  he  escaped  these 
dangers,  he  would  have  to  content  himself  with  quarters  in 
which  "  the  food,  the  clothing,  nay,  the  very  hair  and  skin  of 
his  hosts,  would  have  put  his  philosophy  to  the  proof  His 
lodging  would  sometimes  have  been  in  a  hut,  of  which  every 
nook  would  have  swarmed  with  vermin.  He  would  have 
inhaled  an  atmosphere  thick  with  peat-smoke,  and  foul  with 
a  hundred  noisome  exhalations.  At  supper,  grain  fit  only  for 
horses  would  have  been  set  before  him,  accompanied  by  a  cake 
of  blood  drawn  from  living  cows.  Some  of  the  company  with 
whom  he  would  have  feasted  would  have  been  covered  with 
cutaneous  eruptions,  and  others  would  have  been  smeared 
with  tar  like  sheep.  His  couch  would  have  been  the  bare 
earth,  dry  or  wet,  as  the  weather  might  be,  and  from  that 
couch  he  would  have  risen  half  poisoned  with  stench,  half 
lilind  with  the  reek  of  turf,  and  half  mad  with  the  itch."  ^ 

"  This,"  says  Lord  Macaulay,  "  is  not  an  attractive  picture  " 
— a  sentiment  we  sincerely  echo.  If  it  is  a  true  one.  Lord 
Macaulay's  grandfather  must  have  had  a  stubborn  generation 
to  deal  with,  and  we  fear  his  preaching  must  have  been  of  little 
avaiL  We  are  not  Highlanders.  We  believe  that  justice  is 
better  administered  under  Queen  Victoria  than  ever  it  was  by 
the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  or  even  by  Fin  j\Iac-Coul.  We  would 
rather  ride  after  a  fox  than  stalk  the  "  muckle  hart  of  Bon- 
more  "  himself  Tlie  Monarch  of  tlie  Glen  may  toss  his  royal 
head,  and  range  over  his  mountain  kingdum  safe  from  our 
treason.  We  should  feel  it  almost  a  crime  to  level  a  rifle  at 
his  deep  shoulder,  or  to  pierce  his  lordly  throat  witli  a  skean- 
dhu.  We  have  no  wish  to  see  his  soft  lustrous  eye  grow  dim, 
and  his  elastic  limbs  stiffen  under  our  hands.  We  never  wore 
a  kilt,  and  never  intend  to  array  our  limbs  in  so  comfortless  a 
»  Vol.  iii.  .301.  2  i>   305^  306. 


HO  'IIIK    NKW    "  KXAMMN. 

;^ariu('iit.  Notwitlistanding  all  our  love  and  veneration  lui 
till-  Wizard  of  the  North,  we  cannot  but  tliink  that  old  Allan's 
liaip  must  have  been  apt  to  be  out  of  tune  in  the  climate  of 
Loch  Katrine,  and  that  Helen  herself  must  have  found  her 
Isle  too  damp  to  be  comfoitable  during  the  greater  pait  of  the 
year.  We  would  rather  have  seen  the  Magician  himself  in 
the  library  at  Abbotsford  than  amongst  the  Children  of  the 
Mist.  Our  tastes,  our  habits,  our  affections,  and  our  preju- 
dices, are  with  the  Lowlands.  But  we  cannot  allow  this  gross 
caricature,  this  shameless  libel,  this  malignant  slander,  this 
parricidal  onslaught  by  a  son  of  the  Highlands  on  the  people 
and  the  land  of  his  fathers — a  race  and  a  country  which  has 
furnished  heroes  whose  deeds  in  every  quarter  of  the  globe 
have  been,  and  at  the  very  time  we  write  are,  such  that  their 
names  awaken  a  thrill  of  admiration  in  every  heart  that  is 
capable  of  generous  feeling — to  pass  unnoticed.  Lowlanders 
as  we  are,  it  moves  our  indignation.  It  is  not  histoiy  :  to 
attempt  to  follow  and  answer  it  step  by  step  would  be  to  com- 
mit a  folly  only  exceeded  by  the  absurdity  of  the  original  libel. 
We  prefer  to  introduce  our  readers  to  the  authorities  on  which 
Lord  INIacaulay  professes  to  have  founded  this  gross  carica- 
ture. They  are  few  in  number,  consisting  of  Oliver  Goldsmith, 
Kichard  Franck,  who  wrote  a  book  called  '  Northern  Memoirs,' 
Colonel  Cleland,  and  Captain  Burt.  We  have  bestowed  some 
pains  upon  an  examination  of  them,  and  we  proceed  to  lay 
the  result  before  our  readers,  and  to  show  how  little  foun- 
dation they  aflbrd  for  Lord  jMacaulay's  malignant  lampoon. 
We  will  take  them  in  order.  Lord  Macaulay  says :  "  Gold- 
smith was  one  of  the  very  few  Saxons  who,  more  than  a 
century  ago,  ventured  to  explore  the  Highlands.  He  was 
(Usgusted  hj  the  hideous  wilderness,  and  declared  that  he 
greatly  preferred  the  charming  country  round  Leyden,  the 
vast  expanse  of  verdant  meadows,  and  the  villas  with  their  sta- 
tues and  grottoes,  trim  tlower-beds,  and  rectilinear  avenues."  ^ 
Those  who  are  unacquainted  with  Lord  Maeaulay's  mode  of 
dealing  with  authorities  may  perhaps  be  surprised  to  learn 
that  the  only  passage  in  Goldsmith's  correspondence  directly 
'  Vol.  iii.  302. 


THE    HIGHLANDS    OF    SCOTLAND.  81 

relating  to  his  journey  to  the  Highlands  is  the  following  :  "  I 
have  been  a  montli  in  the  Highlands.  I  set  out  the  first  day 
on  foot,  but  an  ill-natured  corn  I  have  got  on  my  toe  has  for 
the  future  prevented  that  cheap  method  of  travelling ;  so  the 
second  day  I  hired  a  horse,  of  about  the  size  of  a  ram,  and  he 
walked  away  (trot  he  could  not)  as  pensive  as  his  master.  In 
three  days  we  reached  the  Highlands.  This  letter  Mould  Ije 
too  long  if  it  contained  the  description  I  intend  giving  of  that 
country,  so  I  shall  make  it  the  subject  of  my  next."  ^ 

Whether  Goldsmith  ever  carried  his  intention  into  effect, 
or  whether  the  promised  description  has  been  lost,  is  not 
known.  "  No  trace  of  this  communication,"  says  Mr  Prior, 
"  which  we  may  believe,  from  his  humour  and  skill  in  narra- 
tion, to  have  been  of  an  amusing  character,  has  been  found."  - 

Lord  IMacaulay  says  that  Goldsmith  was  "  disgusted  with 
the  hideous  wilderness."  The  only  thing  he  expresses  any 
disgust  at  is  the  corn  on  his  toe,  and  he  says  nothing  about 
any  hideous  wilderness  whatever. 

Goldsmith,  however,  did  write  some  letters  during  his  resi- 
dence at  Edinburgh  as  a  medical  student,  and  also  afterwards 
at  Leyden,  containing  a  few  passing  observations  upon  Scot- 
land generally,  which  Lord  Macaulay  quotes  as  if  they  referred 
to  the  Highlands  in  particular.  These  letters  Lord  Macaulay 
either  wholly  misunderstands  or  has  grossly  misrepresented. 
Probably  no  two  men  of  genius  ever  were  more  dissimilar 
than  Oliver  Goldsmith  and  Lord  Macaulay.  The  delicate 
humour  and  refined  satire  of  the  former  appear  to  be  Avholly 
incomprehensible  to  the  latter.  Goldsmith's  weapon  is  the 
smallest  of  small  swords,  which  he  wields  with  wonderful 
skill.  Lord  Macaulay  lays  about  him  with  an  axe  ;  he  mauls 
and  disfigures  his  foe  ;  he  splashes  about  in  blood  and  brains  ; 
he  is  not  content  with  slaying  his  enemy — he  stamps  upon  his 
carcass,  tears  his  limbs  in  pieces,  seethes  them  in  pitch,  and 
gibbets  them  like  his  own  Tom  Boilman.  It  is  hardly  possible 
to  avoid  feeling  some  sympathy  for  the  criminal,  however 
execrable,  to  whom  Lord  Macaulay  plays  the  part  of  execu- 
tioner. Goldsmith  is  the  gentlest  and  most  playful  of  writris. 
1  I'rior's  Goldsmitli,  v.  148.  =  Ibid,  v.  145. 

F 


82  THE    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

To  conceive  Lord  Macaulay  cither  gentle  or  playful  would  he 
to  conjure  up  an  image  which  would  be  grotesque  if  it  were 
not  inipos.sible.      It  is  not,  therefore,  surprising   that   Lord 
Macaulay  should  wholly  misinterpret  the  two  letters  from 
which   he  quotes  a  few  lines,  which,  taken  apart  from  the 
context  and  applied  to  a  subject  to  which  they  do  not  refer, 
appear  at  first  sight  in  some  degree  to  justify  his  remarks. 
The  first  of  these  letters  is  addressed  by  Goldsmith  to  his 
IViend  Bryanton,  at  Ballymahon,  and  has  been  omitted  (Mr 
Trior  tells  us)  from  most  of  the  Scottish  editions  of  his  works, 
"  for  no  other  reason,  as  it  appears,  than  containing  a  few 
harmless  jests  upon  Scotland."  *     In  this  playful  letter  he 
laughs  alike  at  the  Irish  squires  and  the  Scotch  belles,  who, 
he   says,  nevertheless,   "  are  ten   thousand  times  fairer  and 
handsomer  than  the  Irish,"  an  opinion  which  he  expressly 
desires  may  be  communicated  to  the  sisters  of  his  Irish  friend, 
for  whose  bright  eyes   he  "  does   not  care  a  potato."      He 
describes  an  Edinburgh  ball,  retails  the  observations  of  three 
"  envious  prudes "  upon  the  beautiful  Duchess  of  Hamilton, 
and  desires  especially  to  know  if  "  John  Binely  has  left  ofif 
drinking  drams,  or  Tom  Allan  got  a  new  wig  ? "     It  is  this 
playful   badinage  of  the   young  medical  student  that  Lord 
Macaulay  gravely  quotes  as  the  judgment  of  the  "  author  of 
the  '  Traveller  '  and  the  '  Deserted  Village.' "  ^ 

The  other  letter  is  written  about  six  months  afterwards 
from  Ley  den,  and  addressed  to  his  uncle  Contarine.  It  is  in 
the  same  vein  of  playful  humour.  The  principal  object  of  his 
satire  is,  however,  the  Dutchman  ;  and  Lord  Macaiday  might 
just  as  well  have  quoted  the  following  description  as  a  faithful 
portrait  of  Bentinck  or  of  William  himself,  as  the  few  lines 
he  devotes  to  Scotland  as  a  picture  of  that  country.  "  The 
downright  Hollander,"  says  Goldsmith,  '•'  is  one  of  the  oddest 
figures  in  nature.  Upon  a  head  of  lank  hair  he  wears  a  half- 
cocked  narrow  hat,  laced  with  black  ribbon ;  no  coat,  but  seven 
waistcoats  and  nine  pair  of  breeches,  so  that  his  hips  reach 
almost  up  to  his  armpits.  This  well-clothed  vegetable  is  now 
tit  to  see  company  or  to  make  love.  But  what  a  pleasing 
»  Piioi's  Goldsmith,  v.  139.  -  JIacaulay,  iii.  302. 


THE    HIGHLANDS    OF    SCOTLAND.  83 

creature  is  the  object  of  his  appetite  !  Why,  she  wears  a 
large  fur  cap  with  a  deal  of  Flanders  lace,  and  for  every  pair 
of  breeches  he  carries,  she  puts  on  two  petticoats  !  "  ^ 

Eighteen  petticoats  ! — a  warm  and  substantial  crinoline. 
We  trust  that  the  gauzy  garments  of  the  present  day  are 
applied  to  no  such  purpose  as  that  which  Goldsmith  describes 
in  the  next  paragraph :  "  You  must  know,  sir,  every  woman 
carries  in  her  hand  a  stove  with  coals  in  it,  wliich,  when  she 
sits,  she  snugs  vmder  her  petticoats  ;  and  at  this  chimney 
dozing  Strephon  lights  his  pipe."  In  this  playful  strain  he 
goes  on  to  compare  the  Dutch  women  with  the  Scotch  women, 
and  the  country  he  had  just  left  with  the  country  in  which 
he  had  just  arrived.  Scotland,  he  observes  very  truly,  is  hilly 
and  rocky,  while  Holland  "  is  all  a  continued  plain."  He 
compares  the  Scotchman  to  a  "  tulip  planted  in  dung,"  and 
the  Dutchman  to  an  "  ox  in  a  magnificent  temple."  We  con- 
fess we  do  not  recognise  the  truth  of  either  simile  ;  the  wit  is 
too  evanescent  for  us.  But  about  the  Highlands  there  is  not 
one  word. 

We  need  not,  therefore,  trouble  ourselves  further  as  to  any 
weight  which  Lord  Macaulay's  strictures  derive  from  the 
supposed  authority  of  Oliver  Goldsmith  ;  whatever  he  knew 
or  thought,  he  has  told  us  nothing. 

The  next  in  the  list  of  Lord  INIacaulay's  authorities  is  less 
known.  Pvichard  Franck  was  born  at  Cambridge  about  the 
beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century.  He  resided  at  Notting- 
ham, was  strongly  imbued  with  the  peculiar  religious  tenets 
of  the  Independents,  served  as  a  trooper  in  the  army  of  Crom- 
well, and  about  the  year  1656  or  1657  visited  Scotland.  His 
description,  therefore,  applies  to  a  period  nearly  a  century 
before  the  days  of  our  great-grandfathers.  Lord  ^lacaulay, 
referring  to  this  book,  says  that  "  five  or  six  years  after  the 
Revolution,  an  indefatigable  angler  published  an  account  of 
Scotland  ; "  -  that,  though  professing  to  have  ex])lored  tlie 
whole  kingdom,  he  had  merely  "  caught  a  few  glimpses  of 
Highland  scenery;"^  that  he  asserts  that  "few  Englishmen 
had  ever  seen  Inveraray.     All  beyond  Inveraray  was  chaos  ;"* 

^  Trior's  Golilsinith,  y.  ICl.         ■'  Vol.  iii.  30.3.         »  Ibid.,  note.      ^  Ibid. 


84  I' in-;  nkw  "  kxamen. 

niitl  Lord  Maciiulay  iulds,  in  a  note  to  a  subsequent  passage: 
"  Much  to  the  same  eflect  are  the  very  few  words  wliicli 
Franck  Philantliropus  (1694)  spares  to  the  Highlanders : 
'  They  live  like  lairds  and  die  like  loons — hating  to  work,  and 
no  credit  to  borrow  :  tliey  make  depredations,  and  rob  their 
neighbours.' "  ^ 

This  is  all,  we  believe,  for  which  Lord  Macaulay  cites  the 
'  Northern  Memoirs.'  We  shall  presently  see  that  he  is  in- 
accurate as  to  the  name,  wrong  as  to  the  date,  and  in  error 
both  as  to  what  the  author  saw  of  the  Highlands  and  what  he 
says  of  them. 

First,  Lord  IMacaulay  cites  the  book  as  if  it  were  written 
under  the  pseudonym  of  "  Philanthropus  " — a  designation 
which  Piichard  Franck  adds  to  his  name,  according  to  the 
fantastical  fashion  of  his  day,  as  he  might  have  called  himself 
"  Piscator,"  or  "  Venator,"  or  "  Viator,"  after  the  manner  of 
Isaac  Walton.  Secondly,  The  book  was  written  in  1658, 
thirty  years  heforc  the  Eevolution,  instead  of  six  years  after.- 
Thirdly,  Instead  of  merely  catcliing  a  few  glimpses  of  High- 
land scenery,  Franck  visited  every  Highland  county,  and 
penetrated  to  the  north  of  Sutherland  and  Caithness.  Instead 
of  saying  that  "  all  beyond  Inveraray  was  chaos,"  or  giving  the 
character  of  the  Highlands  which  Lord  Macaulay  attributes 
to  him,  his  words  are  as  follows :  "  Here  we  cannot  stay  to 
inhabit,  nor  any  longer  enjoy  these  solitary  recreations ;  we 
must  steer  our  course  by  the  north  pole,  and  relinquish  those 
nourishing  fields  of  Kintire  and  Inveraray,  the  pleasant  bounds 
of  Marquess  Argyle,  which  very  few  Englishmen  have  made 
discovery  of,  to  inform  us  of  the  glories  of  the  Western  High- 
lauds,  enriched  with  grain  and  the  plenty  of  herbage.  But 
how  the  Highlanders  will  vindicate  Bowhidder  and  Lochaber, 
with  Ileven  in  Badenoch,  that  I  know  not ;  for  tlierc  they  live 
like  lairds  and  die  like  loons — hating  to  work,  and  no  credit 
to  borrow  :  they  make  depredations,  and  so  rob  their  neigh- 
bours." 3    So  that  we  see  that  the  words  Lord  Macaulay  quotes 

'  Vol.  iii.  310. 

-  See  Prefiice  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  to  the  edition  of  Franck's  book,  1S21. 

^  r.  ii4. 


THE    HIGHLANDS    OF    SCOTLAND.  85 

as  applicable  to  the  Highlands' in  general,  are  used  by  Franck 
in  reference  to  the  districts  of  Balquhidder — for  such  we 
presume  to  be  the  place  called  by  him  Bowliidder — Lochaber, 
and  a  part  of  Badenoch,  the  lawlessness  of  Avliich  he  contrasts 
with  the  rest  of  the  Highlands  ;  and  instead  of  all  beyond 
Inveraray  being  chaos,  it  is  in  these  "  pleasant  bounds  "  that 
"  the  glories  of  the  Western  Highlands,  enriched  with  grain 
and  plenty  of  herbage,"  are  to  be  found. 

The  opinion  which  Franck  formed  of  Scotland  he  has  not 
been  niggardly  in  expressing.  He  sums  it  up  thus  :  "  For 
you  are  to  consider,  sir,  that  the  whole  tract  of  Scotland  is 
but  one  single  series  of  admirable  deliglits,  notwithstanding 
the  prejudicate  reports  of  some  men  that  represent  it  other- 
wise. For  if  eyesight  be  argument  convincing  enough  to 
confirm  a  truth,  it  enervates  my  pen  to  describe  Scotland's 
curiosities,  which  properly  ought  to  fall  under  a  more  elegant 
style  to  range  them  in  order  for  a  better  discovery.  For  Scot- 
land is  not  Europe's  umbra,  as  fictitiously  imagined  by  some 
extravagant  wits.  No ;  it's  rather  a  legible  fair  draught  of 
the  beautiful  creation  dressed  up  with  polished  rocks,  pleasant 
savannahs,  flourishing  dales,  deep  and  torpid  lakes,  with  shady 
firwoods  immerged  with  rivers  and  gliding  rivulets  ;  where 
every  fountain  o'erflows  a  valley,  and  every  ford  superabounds 
with  fish ;  where  also  the  swelling  mountains  are  covered 
with  sheep  and  the  marish  grounds  strewed  with  cattle,  whilst 
every  field  is  filled  with  corn  and  every  swamp  swarms  with 
fowl.  This,  in  my  opinion,  proclaims  a  plenty,  and  presents 
Scotland  a  kingdom  of  prodigies  and  products  too,  to  allure 
foreigners  and  entertain  travellers."  ^ 

It  is  greatly  to  be  regretted  that  Franck,  who  had  the  o[»por- 
tunity  of  affording  so  much  information,  should  have  been  led 
by  his  intolerable  pedantry  into  a  style  of  writing  fit  only  for 
Don  Adriano  de  Armado.  If  he  had  been  content  to  "  deliver 
himself  like  a  man  of  this  world,"  his  liook  would  have  formed 
a  most  valuable  record  of  the  condition  of  the  countr}'  at  a 
time  when  (though  we  by  no  means  accept  Lord  Macaulay's 
assertion  that  less  was  known  of  the  Grampians  tlian  of  the 
^  Franck's  Xortliern  Memoirs,  Preface,  .\. 


86  THE    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

Andes)  we  are  certainly  in  want  (jf  accurate  and  iinjiartial 
information.  The  book  is  scarce,  and  the  reader  may  take  the 
followiti;^  description  of  Dumbarton  as  a  fair  sample  of  the 
style  in  which  the  whole  of  it  i,s  written.  Arnoldus,  it  must 
be  remembered,  was  Franck  himself, 

"TuKOi'H. — What  lofty  domineorinf,'  towers  arc  those  that 
storm  the  air  and  stand  on  tiptoe  (to  my  thinking)  upon  two 
stately  elevated  pondrus  rocks,  that  shade  the  valley  with 
their  prodigious  growth,  even  to  amazement  ?  Because  they 
display  such  adequate  and  exact  proportion,  with  such  equality 
in  their  mountainous  pyramides,  as  if  nature  had  stretched 
them  into  parallel  lines  with  most  accurate  poize,  to  amaze 
the  most  curious  and  critical  observer ;  though  with  exquisite 
perspectives  he  double  an  observation,  yet  shall  he  never  trace 
a  disproportion  in  those  iniiform  piermonts. 

"Arn.— These  are  those  natural  and  not  artificial  pyramides 
that  have  stood,  for  ought  I  know,  since  the  beginnings  of 
time ;  nor  are  they  sheltered  under  any  disguise,  for  Nature 
herself  dressed  up  this  elaborate  precipice,  without  art  or 
engine,  or  any  other  manual,  till  arriving  at  this  period  of 
beauty  and  perfection.  And  because,  having  laws  and  limits 
of  her  own,  destinated  by  the  prerogative-royal  of  Heaven, 
she  heaped  up  these  massy  inaccessible  pyramides,  to  invali- 
date art  and  all  its  admirers,  since  so  equally  to  shape  a 
mountain,  and  to  form  it  into  so  great  and  such  exact  pro- 
portions. 

"TiiEOPH. — Then  it's  no  fancy,  I  perceive,  when  in  the 
midst  of  those  lofty  and  elevated  towers  a  palace  presents 
itself  unto  us,  immured  with  rocks  and  a  craggy  front,  that 
with  a  haughty  brow  contemns  the  invaders ;  and  where  be- 
low, at  those  knotty  descents,  Neptune  careers  on  brinish 
billows,  armed  with  tritons  in  corselets  of  green,  that  threat- 
ens to  invade  tliis  impregnable  rock,  and  shake  the  founda- 
tions, which  if  he  do,  he  procures  an  earthquake. 

"  Arn. — This  is  the  rock  ;  and  that  which  you  see  elevated 
in  air,  and  inoculated  to  it,  is  an  artificial  fabrik,  invelop't,  as 
you  now  observe,  in  the  very  breast  of  this  prodigious  moun- 
tain ;  which  briefly,  yet  well  enough,  your  observation  directs 


THE    HIGHLANDS    OF    SCOTLAND.  87 

to,  both  as  to  the  form,  situation,  and  strength.  Moreover,  it's 
a  garrison,  and  kept  by  the  Albions,  wliere  formerly  our  friend 
i'oelecius  dwelt,  who  of  late  upon  preferment  is  transplanted 
into  Ireland  :  however,  Aquilla  will  bid  us  welcome  ;  and  if  I 
mistake  not,  he  advances  to  meet  us :  look  wishly  forward, 
and  you'll  see  him  trace  those  delightful  fields  from  the  ports 
of  Dumbarton. 

"  Aquil. — What  vain  delusions  thus  possess  me !  Nay, 
what  idle  dotages  and  fictitious  dreams  thus  delude  me,  if 
these  be  ghosts  which  I  fancy  men  ! — O  Heavens  !  it's  our 
friend  Arnoldus,  and  (if  I  mistake  not)  Theophilus  with  him. 
Welcome  to  Dumbarton  I  "  ^ 

After  some  further  conversation  in  the  same  style,  Arnoldus 
and  Theophilus  display  their  fishing-rods,  and  all  three  forth- 
with descend  from  their  stilts,  and  talk  like  men  of  this  world. 
"  I'm  for  the  fly,"  says  Arnoldus.  "  Then  I'm  for  ground- 
bait,"  replies  Aquilla.  "  And  I'm  for  any  bait  or  any  colour, 
so  that  I  be  but  doing,"  exclaims  Theophilus ;  and  then  fol- 
lows a  discussion  upon  brandlings,  gildtails,  cankers,  cater- 
pillars, grubs,  and  locusts,  with  a  barbarous  suggestion  to 
"  strip  off  the  legs  of  a  grasshopper,"  worthy  of  that  "  quaint 
old  cruel  coxcomb "  Isaac  Walton,  whom,  in  spite  of  all  his 
cold-blooded  abominations,  we  cannot  help  loving  in  our 
hearts.  The  three  friends  then  part,  Arnoldus  for  the  head,  or 
more  properly  the  foot,  of  Loch  Lomond,  whilst  Aquilla  and 
Theophilus  remain  to  try  their  luck  and  skill  in  the  waters 
of  Leven,  and  meet  again  to  compare  their  sport  and  display 
their  spoil.  Franck  was  a  dull  man  on  everything  but  fishing. 
When  the  rod  and  the  fly  are  concerned  he  writes  in  earnest, 
his  intolerable  pedantry  and  affectation  disappear,  and  his 
book,  like  all  books  containing  a  mixture;  of  natural  history, 
topography,  sporting,  and  personal  adventure,  is  delightful. 
His  pedantry  and  dulness  spoil  every  other  subject ;  even  the 
Elitropia  of  Boccaccio,  and  the  story  of  Bailie  Priiigle's  cow, 
and  the  Doch-an-dorroch,  became  stupid  and  tiresome  in  his 
hands ;  and  he  gives  an  account  of  the  venerable  Laird  of 
Urquhart,  who  was  the  happy  father  of  forty  legitimate  chil- 

1  P.  109,  110. 


88  Tin;    Ni;\V    "  KXAMKN. 

(Inn,  and  who  ;it  IIk;  latter  part  of  liis  life  was  in  the  habit  of 
;,n»iii;,'  to  lied  in  Ills  coH'm,  which  was  then  liiuilcd  liy  jmHeys 
close  up  to  the  ridge-tree  of  the  liouse,  in  order  that  the  old 
gentleman  might  be  so  much  the  nearer  heaven  should  he  re- 
ceive a  sudden  summons, — without  any  appreciation  of  the 
grotes(jue  humour  of  the  old  man. 

Here  and  there  a  peevish  word  escapes  liim  at  the  want  of 
the  comforts  he  had  been  accustomed  to  on  the  banks  of  the 
Trent,  and  did  not  find  in  the  wilds  of  Sutherland  and  Cro- 
marty ;  but  so  far  from  encountering  any  of  the  perils  which 
Lord  ^lacaulay  paints  so  vividly,  he  says,  writing  in  a  remote 
part  of  Suthcrlandshire,  "  Let  not  our  discourse  discover  us 
ungrateful  to  the  inhabitants,  for  it  were  madness  more  than 
good  manners  not  to  acknowledge  civilities  from  a  people  that 
so  civilly  treated  us."  ^     This  was  in  1G57. 

Lord  Macaulay's  next  witness  is  William  Cleland.  He 
vouches  him  to  prove  the  important  fact  of  the  tar.  "  For 
the  tar,"  says  Lord  Macaulay,  "  I  am  indebted  to  Cleland's 
poetry."  -  Cleland  deserves  to  be  remembered  for  better 
things  than  a  poem  which  Lord  Macaulay  himself  elsewhere 
describes  as  a  "  Hudibrastic  satire  of  very  little  intrinsic 
value."  ^  He  was  an  accomplished  man  and  a  gallant  soldier, 
but  about  as  bad  a  witness  as  to  anything  concerning  the 
Highlanders  as  can  be  conceived.  During  the  whole  of  his 
short  life  he  was  engaged  in  a  bitter  hand-to-hand  contest 
with  them.  It  was  a  struggle  for  life  or  death,  and  only  ter- 
minated when  Cleland,  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven,  fell  by  a 
Highland  bullet  at  the  head  of  the  Cameronians,  during  his 
gallant  and  successful  defence  of  Dunkeld  from  the  attack  of 
the  Highlanders  in  1689.  No  one,  therefore,  would  think  of 
regarding  Cleland  as  an  impartial  "witness.  But  his  poem, 
which  Lord  j\Lacaulay  quotes,  will  be  found  on  examination  to 
relate,  not  to  the  Highlands  and  their  inhabitants  in  general, 
to  whom  Lord  jNIacaulay  applies  it,  but  simply  to  that  "  High- 
land Host "  which  was  sent  by  Lauderdale  to  ravage  the  west 
in  1678,  when  Cleland  was  a  boy  of  seventeen.  It  does  not 
profess  even  to  give  any  description  of  the  Highlanders  in 
^  r.  211.  »  Vol.  iii.  306.  ^  y^i   ^^   276. 


THE    HIGHLANDS    OF   SCOTLAND.  89 

general.  The  book  is  extremely  scarce :  the  only  copy  we 
have  seen — a  small  12mo  in  the  Grenville  Collection — is 
marked  as  having  cost  three  guineas.  AVe  therefore  give  the 
passage  which  Lord  Macaulay  refers  to  entire,  in  order  that 
the  reader  may  judge  how  far  this  description  of  the  lawless 
rabble,  let  loose  upon  free  quarter  on  the  western  counties, 
justifies  Lord  Macaulay 's  account  of  the  company  with  whom 
a  peaceful  traveller  would  have  "  feasted  "  wlien  journeying 
across  Scotland.  Even  Cleland,  it  will  be  seen,  draws  by  no 
means  a  contemptible  picture  of  the  officers  of  this  host,  his 
description  of  whose  dress  and  accoutrements  well  befits  the 
leaders  of  an  irregular  force. 

"  But  to  descrive  them  right  surpasses 
The  art  of  nine  Parnassus  lasses, 
Of  Lucan,  Virgil,  or  of  Horas, 
Of  Ovid,  Homer,  or  of  Floras  ; 
Yea,  sure  such  sights  might  have  inclined 
A  man  to  nauceate  at  mankind  : 
Some  might  have  judged  they  were  the  creatures 
Called  Selties,  wlios  costumes  and  features 
Paracelsus  does  descry 
In  his  Occult  Philosophy ; 
Or  Faunes,  or  Brownies,  if  ye  will, 
Or  Satjrres,  come  from  Atlas  hill, 
Or  that  the  three-tongued  tyke  wiis  sleeping 
Who  hath  the  Stygian  door  a-keeping. 
Their  head,  their  neck,  their  legges,  and  thighs, 
Are  influenced  by  the  skies. 
Without  a  clout  to  interrupt  them. 
They  need  not  strip  them  when  they  whip  them, 
Nor  loose  their  doublet  when  they're  hanged  ; 
If  they  be  missed,  it's  sure  they're  wrong'd. 
This  keeps  their  bodies  from  corruptions, 
From  fistuls,  humours,  and  eruptions. 


Their  durks  hang  down  between  their  legs, 
Where  they  make  many  slopes  and  gegges. 
By  rubbing  on  their  naked  hide, 
And  wambling  from  side  to  side. 
But  those  who  were  their  chief  commanders, 
And  such  who  bore  the  pirnie  standarts, 
Who  led  the  van  and  drove  the  rear. 
Were  right  well  mounted  of  their  gear ; 
With  Brogues,  Treues,  and  pirnie  plaides. 
With  gude  blew  Bouucta  on  their  heads, 


(j{)  TFIK    NICW    "  EXAMEN. 

Whiih  on  tho  one  sitlc  had  a  flipo 

Aiioiiit-'il  with  a  Tobacco-pipe. 

With  Dvirk  ami  siiapwork,  and  SnufT-niillc, 

A  baj;  which  tliuy  with  onions  fill, 

And,  as  their  at  rick  observers  say, 

A  tupe-horn  filled  with  u.squebay, 

A  shushed  out  coiit  beneath  her  jilaiilea, 

A  tarf^o  of  timber,  nailes,  and  hides, 

"With  a  lonf,'  two-handed  sword, 

As  good's  the  country  can  alFoord. 

Had  they  not  need  of  bulk  and  bones 

Who  figlit  with  all  these  arms  at  once  ? 

It's  marvellous  how  in  such  weather. 

O'er  liill  and  hop  they  came  together. 

How  in  such  storms  lliey  came  so  far  ; 

Tlie  reason  is,  they're  smeared  with  tar, 

\Vliich  doth  defend  them  heel  and  neck. 

Just  as  it  does  their  sheep  protect  ; 

Hut  least  ye  doubt  that  this  be  trew. 

They're  just  the  colour  of  tarr'd  wool. 

Nought  like  religion  they  retain, 

Of  moral  honestie  they're  clean; 

In  nothing  they're  accounted  sharp, 

Except  in  bagpipe  and  in  harpe. 

For  a  misobliging  word 

She'll  durk  her  neighbour  over  the  boord  ; 

And  then  she'll  flee  like  fire  from  ilint, 

She'll  scarcely  ward  the  second  dint. 

If  any  ask  her  of  her  thrift, 

Foresooth  her  nain  sell  lives  by  theft. "  ^ 

Cleland's  picture  of  the  "  Highland  Host "  may  pass  well 
enough  with  Gilray's  caricatures  of  Napoleon's  army.  As  an 
illustration  of  what  people  said  and  thought,  it  is  valuable  ; 
as  a  record  of  facts  it  is  worthless.  A  far  greater  satirist, 
some  years  later,  drew  a  French  officer  preparing  his  o\vn  din- 
ner by  spitting  half-a-dozen  frogs  on  his  rapier,  and  a  Clare- 
market  butcher  tossing  a  French  postilion,  with  a  large  port- 
manteau on  his  back,  bodily  over  his  shoulder  with  one  hand. 
Even  Lord  INIacaulay  could  hardly  cite  Hogarth  to  prove  the 
diet  of  the  French  army,  or  the  proportion  of  muscular 
strength  of  the  two  nations  respectively. 

Lord  jNLicaulay's  total  want  of  perception  of  humour,  of  the 
power  of  distinguishing  a  grotesque  play  of  fancy  from  the 
solemn  assertion  of  a  fact,  leads  him  into  numerous  errors. 

»  Cleland's  Highlaud  Hobt,  11-13. 


THE    HIGHLANDS    OF   SCOTLAND.  91 

We  now  come  to  Lord  Macaulay's  principal  authority : 
"  Almost  all  tlicse  circumstances,"  he  says  (with  a  special  ex- 
ception of  the  tar  in  honour  of  Colonel  Clelantl),  "  are  taken 
from  Burt's  Letters."  ^  Here,  then,  we  arrive  at  the  fountain- 
head.  Burt's  Letters  were  first  published  in  1754.  They 
were  written  twenty  or  thirty  years  earlier — that  is  to  say, 
about  the  latter  end  of  the  reign  of  George  L  Burt  was  a 
man  of  ability,  and  possessed  considerable  power  of  observa- 
tion ;  but  he  was  a  coxcomb  and  a  Cockney.  He  was  quar- 
tered at  Inverness  with  some  brother  officers,  one  of  whom 
attempted  to  "  ride  through  a  rainbow,"  -  and  another  became 
so  terrified  on  a  hillside  (where  there  was,  be  it  observed,  a 
horse-road)  that  in  panic  terror  he  chnig  to  the  heather  on  the 
mountain-side,  and  remained  there  till  he  was  rescued  by  two 
of  his  own  soldiers.^  Others  of  the  party  attempted  to  ascend 
to  the  top  of  Ben  Nevis,  "  but  could  not  attain  it."  ■*  They 
related  on  their  return  that  this  "  wild  expedition,"  unsuccess- 
ful as  it  was,  "  took  tliem  up  a  whole  summer's  day  from  five 
in  the  morning."  They  returned,  thankful  that  they  had 
escaped  the  mists,  in  which,  had  they  been  caught,  they 
"  must  have  perished  with  cold,  wet,  and  hunger."  ^  Burt 
himself  travelled  on  horseback,  witli  a  sumpter-horse  attend- 
ing him.  With  this  equipage  he  attempted  to  ride  over  a  bog, 
and  got  bogged  as  he  deserved  ;  next  he  tried  bog-trotting  on 
foot,  in  heavy  jack-boots  with  high  heels,^  with  little  better 
success.  Old  hock,  claret,  and  French  brandy  were  necessary 
to  his  comfort — he  nauseated  at  the  taste  of  whisky  and  the 
smell  of  peat.  He  has  left  a  minute  account  of  his  personal 
adventures  during  an  expedition  into  the  Highlands  in  Octo- 
ber 172-  His  route  we  have  attempted  in  vain  to  trace. 
He  met  with  bad  weather,  and  Avas  forced  to  take  refuge  in  a 
"  hut."  Let  us  hear  the  description  wliich  this  line  gentleman 
has  left  of  his  quarters  under  tlie  most  disadvantageous  cir- 
cumstances :  "  My  fare,"  he  says,  "  was  a  couple  of  roasted 
hens  (as  they  call  them),  very  poor,  new  killed,  tlie  skins 
much  broken  with  plucking,  black  with  smoke,  and  greased 

»  Vol.  iii.  306.  "  Bmt,  ii.  68.  »  Ibid.,  ii.  45. 

*  Ibid.,  ii.  11.  »  Ibid.,  ii.  12.  «  Ibid.,  ii.  27. 


'.V2  TUK    NF:W    "  lOXAMEN. 

with  had  Ituttcr.'  As  I  liad  no  great  appetite  to  that  dish,  I 
sj»()k(;  for  s(jino  liard  off^'s,  made  iny  supper  of  the  yolks,  .ind 
wiushcd  them  down  with  a  boitle  of  (jood  small  claret.     My  bed 

liad  cU*an  slieets  and  blankets For  want  of  any- 

thin<,'  more  proper  for  breakfast,  I  took  up  with  a  little 
l)raiidy,  water,  sugar,  and  yolks  of  eggs  beat  up  together, 
which  1  think  they  called  '  old  man's  milk.' "  We  have  many 
a  time  ourselves  been  thankful  for  far  worse  fare  than  this. 
A  couple  of  fowls  brandered,  fresh  eggs,  butter  not  to  be  com- 
mended, good  light  claret,  brandy-and-water  hot,  with  clean 
sheets  and  a  clear  turf-fire — not  bad  chance-quarters,  when 
a  snowstorm  was  howling  down  the  glens,  whirling  madly 
round  the  mountains,  and  beating  on  the  roof  which  sheltered 
the  thankless  Cockney.  Better,  at  any  rate,  than  he  deserved. 
Burt  saw  nothing  in  the 

"  Land  of  brown  heath  and  shaggy  wood, 
Land  of  tlie  mountain  and  the  flood," 

but  ridges  of  '•'  rugged  iri'egular  lines,"  those  which  "  appear 
next  to  the  ether  being  rendered  extremely  harsh  to  the  eye 
by  appearing  close  to  that  diaphanous  body."  What  he  thinks 
"  the  most  horrid,  is  to  look  at  the  hills  from  east  to  west,  or 
vice  versa!'  He  laments  the  fate  which  has  banished  him  to 
the  Highlands,  and  sighs  for  a  "  poetical  mountain,  smooth  and 
easy  of  ascent,  clothed  with  a  verdant  flowery  turf,  where 
shepherds  tend  their  Hocks,  sitting  under  the  shade  of  tall 
poplars."  -     Burt  was  a 

"Sir  Plunic,  of  amber  snuff-box  justly  vain, 
And  the  nice  manage  of  a  clouded  aine." 

Richmond  Hill  was  fairer  in  his  eye  than  Ben  Cruachan. 
He  measures  the  terrors  of  a  mountain-pass  by  saying  that  it 
was  "  twice  as  high  as  the  cross  of  St  Paul's  is  from  Ludgate 
Hill."  ^  From  the  top  of  his  hat  to  the  sole  of  his  shoe  he 
was  a  Cockney, — one  of  those  men  for  whose  eyes  the  foxglove 
hangs  its  banner  out  in  vain,  to  whom  the  odours  of  a  London 
dining-room  are  more  fragrant  than  the  sweetest  breeze  that 

*  Burt,  ii.  4L  «  Ibid.,  ii.  10-13.  »  Ibid.,  ii.  45. 


THE    HIGHLANDS    OF    SCOTLAND.  93 

ever  came  love-laden  with  the  kisses  of  the  honeysuckle  from 
the  shores  of  Inuisfallen — to  whose  eyes  Pall  Mall  affords  a 
fairer  prospect  than  the  wildest  glen  in  which  stag  ever 
crouched  among  the  bracken — who  see  nothing  but  gloomy 
purple  in  tliat  heatlier  whose  bloom  even  the  truth  of  eye  and 
skill  of  liand  of  Leitch  or  Iiichardson  can  hardly  transfer  in  all 
its  richness  and  all  its  tenderness  to  canvas  or  to  paper — who 
are  blind  to  the  countless  beauties  of  tlie  brown  winter  wood, 
and  deaf  to  that  melody  in  the  sough  of  the  wind  through 
the  leafless  trees,  which  never  failed  to  awaken  kindred 
poetry  in  the  soul  of  Burns.  Yet  even  Burt,  as  we  have  seen, 
in  no  way  supports  Lord  Macaulay's  description.  The  risk 
of  murder  and  robbery,  so  eloquently  dilated  upon  by  Lord 
Macaulay,  is  disposed  of  at  once  by  Burt  in  the  following 
passage :  "  Personal  robberies  are  seldom  heard  of  among 
them.  For  my  own  part,  I  have  several  times,  with  a  single 
servant,  passed  the  mountain- way  from  hence  to  Edinburg 
with  four  or  five  hundred  guineas  in  my  portmanteau,  without 
any  apprehension  of  robbers  by  the  way,  or  danger  in  my 
lodgings  at  night;  though  in  my  sleep  any  one  with  ease 
might  have  thrust  a  sword  from  the  outside  through  the  wall 
of  the  hut  and  my  body  together.  /  loish  wc  could  say  as 
rmich  of  our  own  country,  civilised  as  it  is  said  to  be,  though  wc 
cannot  he  safe  in  going  from  London  to  Highgate."  ^ 

This  is  the  witness  Lord  Macaulay  produces  to  prove  tlie 
imminent  peril  a  traveller  in  the  Highlands  was  in  of  being 
"  stripped  and  mangled  "  by  marauders,  and  his  eyes  given  as 
a  meal  to  tlie  eagles  ! 

Neither  Burt  nor  Franck  intimate  that  they  were  ever  in 
the  slightest  personal  danger  of  this  kind.  The  precipices 
and  the  torrents,  on  the  dangers  of  which  Lord  Macaulay 
dilates,  are  precisely  the  same  now  tliat  they  weri!  a  lunulred 
years  ago ;  the  risk  of  falling  from  the  former  depends  on  the 
quantity  of  whisky  the  traveller  may  have  imbibed,  and  is  no 
greater  than  it  is  on  the  top  of  Sleive  League  or  the  pass  of 
Striden  Edge.  The  perils  of  the  ford  depend  (m  the  skill  and 
care  of  those  who  traverse  it.     ^Ve  ourselves  were  of  a  part}', 

'  Vol.  ii.  217. 


04  TFIK    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

Iml  two  years  ago,  ill  lln'  iioilli  (jT  INjs.s,  when  two  hulies,  a 
pony,  and  a  baskct-carriagu,  wore,  to  us(3  Lciid  Macaulay's 
nin,t,'niloquont  expression,  "  suddenly  whirled  away  by  the 
boiling  waves  of  a  torrent."  The  pony  swam  as  Highland 
ponies  know  how  to  swim.  As  for  the  precious  freight,  they, 
like  Ophelia, 

"  Fell  in  the  wccpinr;  brook  ;  their  cloaths  spread  wide, 
And,  mcrmaid-iiko,  awhile  did  bear  them  up." 

Thus  happily  rescued  from  "muddy  death,"  they  shook 
down  their  long  wet  tresses,  wrung  out  "  their  garments  heavy 
witli  their  drink,"  and  joined  heartily  in  the  laughter  which 
followed  close  upon  the  momentary  alarm  occasioned  by  the 
adventure.  All  depends,  in  these  cases,  upon  laying  hold  of 
the  right  handle.  A  man  whose  head  turns  giddy  at  the  top 
of  a  precipice,  who  fears  to  walk  through  a  stream  up  to  his 
middle,  who  cannot  feed  well  and  sleep  sound  on  such  fare 
and  in  such  quarters  as  Captain  Burt  thought  it  a  hardship  to 
be  compelled  to  take  up  wdth  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago, 
who  detests  whisky  and  peat-smoke,  had  better  keep  out  of 
the  Highlands,  where  he  would  be  as  much  out  of  place  as 
Lord  Macaulay  attempting  to  ride  across  Leicestershire  with 
Mr  Little  Gilmour  or  Mr  Green  of  Rolleston. 

The  idea  of  making  one's  supper  upon  a  cake  composed  of 
oats  and  cow's  blood  is  not  agreeable.  But  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  this  is  mentioned  by  Burt^  not  as  fare  that  had 
ever  been  set  before  himself  or  any  other  traveller,  but  as  an 
expedient  resorted  to  "  by  the  lower  order  of  Highlanders  "  in 
seasons  of  extraordinary  scarcity ;  and  after  all,  we  may 
fairly  ask  ourselves  whether  our  disgust  is  not  more  moved 
by  the  revolting  description  than  by  the  actual  diet  itself. 
Did  Lord  Macaulay  of  Rothley,  in  the  county  of  Leicester, 
never  eat  black-pudding  or  lambs'  tails  ?  both  of  which,  we 
can  assure  him,  are  esteemed  delicacies  in  that  part  of  the 
world.  If  he  did,  what  would  ho  think  of  seeing  his  repast 
described  in  the  following  manner  ?  "  At  dinner  a  pudding 
composed  of  grain  fit  only  for  horses,  mixed  with  the  blood 

>  VoL  u.  109. 


THE    HIGHLANDS    OF    SCOTLAND.  95 

and  fat  of  a  pig,  and  boiled  in  a  bag  formed  of  the  intestines 
of  the  same  unclean  beast,  was  set  before  him.  This  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  dish  composed  of  joints  cut  with  a  knife  from  the 
bodies  of  living  lambs,  whose  plaintive  bleatings,  as  they 
wriggled  their  bleeding  stumps  within  hearing  and  sight,  did 
not  disturb  the  appetite  of  the  guest.  Such  was  the  diet 
which  a  peer,  a  poet,  and  a  historian  did  not  think  unpalatable 
in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century."  ^  One  might  go  on 
ad  infinitum  with  similar  illustrations.  Shrimps  are  esteemed 
universally,  we  believe,  to  be  delicate  viands,  and  are  espe- 
cially in  favour  with  the  visitors  at  Margate  and  Heme  Bay, 
who  call  them  "swimps."  What  would  be  the  effect  upon 
Mr  and  Mrs  Tomkins,  and  all  the  Master  and  Miss  Tomkinses, 
as  they  return  home  by  the  Gravesend  boat,  if  they  were  told 
that  they  had  feasted  for  a  week  upon  obscene  animals,  fed 
upon  the  putrid  flesh  of  dead  dogs  and  drowned  sailors,  and 
packed  in  earthen  vessels  covered  with  rancid  butter  ?  Lord 
Macaulay,  we  presume,  does  not  visit  Eosherville,  but  pro- 
bably he  eats  "  swimps  "  somewhere ;  and  we  have  no  doubt 
that  he  spreads  the  trail  of  a  woodcock  upon  a  toast  (first 
carefully  extracting  the  sandbag),  and  swallows  it  with  a 
relish  which  we  should  be  sorry  to  interfere  with  by  describing 
how  the  fine  flavour  which  delights  his  palate  is  produced. 
It  is  absurd  to  look  too  minutely  into  these  matters ;  but  a 
very  little  reflection  will  show  that  it  is  equally  absurd  to 
rely  upon  them  as  being  necessarily  indications  of  barbarism. 

That  there  were,  and  still  are,  huts  in  the  Highlands  which 
swarm  with  vermin,  and  whose  inhabitants  are  subject  to 
cutaneous  diseases,  we  are  by  no  means  disposed  to  deny. 
Unhappily  the  same  thing  may  be  said  with  truth  of  every 
county  in  England — nay,  of  every  parish  in  London.  Within 
a  stone's  throw  of  St  James's  Palace,  garrets  may  be  found 

'  This  fiict  is  alluded  to  in  a  beautiful  ballad,  some  stanzas  of  which  have 
been  handed  down  to  our  own  daj",  and  which  tells  that  when — 

"  Little  Bo-in'cp  had  lost  lier  sheep, 
Ami  diiln't  know  where  to  find  them  ; 
She  fouml  thciii  indeed. 
Hut  it  made  her  heart  bleed. 
For  they'd  left  their  tnilH  behind  thcni. 


«>n  TMK  nf:w 

till'  inhabitants  of  wliidi  .sufl'er  iVoin  all  the  maladies  in  Ixjrd 
Miuiaulay'.s  loathsoiiM!  catalo^'uc,  and  more  to  boot.  That 
()utra<,'('H,  revolting  to  Immanity  have  been,  and  a.s  long  as  the 
passions  and  vices  of  human  nature  remain  what  they  are,  will 
again  be  perpetrated  in  the  Highlands,  as  well  as  in  every 
other  place  where  man  has  set  his  foot,  we  freely  admit.  Few 
years  have  passed  since,  in  the  very  heart  of  London,  a 
wretched  woman  was  brutally  murdered  in  the  course  of  lier 
miserable  and  degraded  profession,  and  the  murderer,  for 
aught  we  know,  still  walks  the  streets  in  safety.  Not  many 
months  ago,  one  mangled  corpse  was  dropped  over  the  j)arapet 
of  Waterloo  Bridge ;  and  another,  stripped  naked,  was  thrown 
into  a  ditch  within  iive  miles  of  Hyde  Park  Corner :  in  neither 
case  has  the  murderer  been  brought  to  justice.  K  we  were 
disposed  to  paint  a  picture  of  the  state  of  London,  after  the 
manner  of  Lord  Macaulay,  from  these  materials  (facts,  be  it 
remembered,  recorded,  not  in  a  lampoon  or  a  satire,  but  on  the 
registers  of  the  police  and  the  reports  of  coroners'  inquests), 
what  a  den  of  assassins,  what  a  seething  caldron  of  vice  and 
profligacy — what  an  abode  of  crime,  disease,  misery,  and 
despair — might  we  represent  the  metropolis  of  the  British 
empire  to  be  ! 

]>urt,  as  we  have  said,  was  a  Cockney.  His  highest  idea  of 
sport  was  a  little  quiet  hare-hunting.  It  was  not  until  many 
years  later  that  Somerville  (to  whose  memory  be  all  honour 
paid)  sketched  a  character  now  happily  not  uncommon.  It 
was  reserved  for  us  in  the  present  day  to  see  the  keenest 
sportsman,  the  best  rider  to  hounds,  the  most  enduring  deer- 
stalker, and  most  skilful  angler,  at  the  same  time  an  accom- 
plished scholar,  an  eloquent  writer,  an  orator,  and  a  statesman.^ 
Amongst  the  wits  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  the  fox-hunt- 
ing country  squire  was  the  constant  subject  of  ridicule.  Burt 
aped  their  mode  of  thought,  and  it  will  be  seen   that   his 

'  That  this  is  a  true  picture  of  a  numerous  class,  will  be  admitted  by  all. 
To  the  minds  of  those  who  ever  had  the  hajipincss  to  meet  him— on  the  moor, 
in  the  field,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  or  at  his  own  fireside — or  who  are  ac- 
quainted with  his  admirable  Essays  ou  Agriculture,  the  late  Mr  Thomas  Gis- 
borne  of  Yoxal  Lodge  will  at  once  occur  as  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
examples  of  that  cla.ss. 


THE   HIGHLANDS   OF   SCOTLAND.  97 

picture  of  the  English  squire  is  fully  as  unpleasing  as  that  of 
the  Highland  laird ;  it  will  be  seen  also  how  little  foundation 
the  latter,  hostile  and  prejudiced  as  it  is,  affords  for  Lord 
Macaulay's  representation  of  him  as  a  filthy,  treacherous 
savage,  who  held  robbery  to  be  a  calling  "  not  merely  innocent 
but  honourable,"  who  revenged  an  insult  by  a  "  stab  in  the 
back,"  and  who,  whilst  he  was  "taking  his  ease,  fighting, 
hunting,  or  marauding,"  compelled  his  "  aged  mother,  his 
pregnant  wife,  and  his  tender  daughters "  to  till  the  soil  and 
to  reap  the  harvest.^ 

Burt  thus  compares  the  English  fox-hunter  and  the  High- 
land laird  : — 

"  The  first  of  these  characters,"  he  says,  "  is,  I  own,  too 
trite  to  be  given  you — but  this  by  way  of  comparison.  The 
squire  is  proud  of  his  estate  and  affluence  of  fortune,  loud  and 
positive  over  his  October,  impatient  of  contradiction,  or  rather 
will  give  no  opportunity  for  it ;  but  whoops  and  halloos  at 
every  interval  of  his  own  talk,  as  if  the  company  were  to  sup- 
ply the  absence  of  liis  hounds.  The  particular  characters  of 
the  pack,  the  various  occurrences  in  a  chase,  where  Jowler  is 
the  eternal  hero,  make  the  constant  topic  of  his  discourse, 
though  perhaps  none  others  are  interested  in  it.  And  his 
favourites,  the  trencher-hounds,  if  they  please,  may  lie  un- 
disturbed upon  chairs  and  counterpanes  of  silk  ;  and  upon 
the  least  cry,  though  not  hurt,  his  pity  is  excited  more  for 
them  than  if  one  of  his  children  had  broken  a  limb ;  and 
to  that  pity  his  anger  succeeds,  to  the  terror  of  the  whole 
family. 

"  The  laird  is  national,  vain  of  the  number  of  his  followers 
and  his  absolute  command  over  them.  In  case  of  contra- 
diction he  is  loud  and  imperious,  and  even  dangerous,  being 
always  attended  by  those  who  are  bound  to  support  his  arbi- 
trary sentiments. 

"  The  great  antiquity  of  his  family,  and  the  heroic  actions 
of  his  ancestors,  in  their  conquests  upon  the  enemy  clans,  is 
the  iuexliaustible  theme  of  his  conversation ;  and,  being 
accustuiiied  to  dominion,  lie  imagines  himself,  in  his  usky,  to 

'  Vol.  iii.  305. 
G 


08  TIIK    NKW    "  EXAMEN. 

l)c  a  sovereign  prince,  and,  as  I  said  before,  fancies  he  may  dis- 
pose of  lieads  at  liis  pleasure. 

"  Thus  one  of  tliem  phaces  his  vanity  in  his  fortune  and  his 
pU^asure  in  his  hounds.  The  other's  pride  is  in  his  lineage, 
and  his  delight  is  in  command,  both  arbitrary  in  their  way ; 
and  this  the  excess  of  liquor  discovers  in  both.  So  that  what 
little  din'crcnce  there  is  between  them,  seems  to  arise  from  the 
accident  of  their  birth  ;  and  if  the  exchange  of  countries  had 
been  made  in  their  infancy,  I  make  no  doubt  but  each  might 
have  had  the  other's  place,  as  they  stand  separately  described 
in  this  letter.  On  the  contrary,  in  like  manner  as  we  have 
many  country  gentlemen,  merely  such,  of  great  humanity  and 
agreeable  (if  not  general)  conversation  ;  so  in  the  Highlands  I 
have  met  with  some  lairds  who  surprised  me  with  their  good 
sense  and  polite  behaviour,  being  so  far  removed  from  the 
more  civilised  part  of  the  world,  and  considering  the  wildness 
of  the  country,  which  one  would  think  was  sufficient  of  itself 
to  give  a  savage  turn  to  a  mind  the  most  humane."  ^ 

It  may  perhaps  be  said  that  Lord  Macaulay  makes  amends 
to  the  Highlands  for  his  groundless  slanders  by  his  equally 
groundless  flattery.  That  the  Highland  gentleman  has  no 
right  to  complain  of  his  stating  that  his  clothes  were  "be- 
grimed with  the  accumulated  filth  of  years,"  and  that  he 
dwelt  in  a  hovel  that  "  smelt  worse  than  an  English  hog-stye," 
because  he  says  in  the  next  line  that  he  did  the  honours  of  his 
hog-stye  with  a  "  lofty  courtesy  worthy  of  the  most  splendid 
circle  of  Versailles."  That  "  in  the  Highland  councils  men 
who  would  not  have  been  qualified  for  the  duty  of  parish 
clerks "  (by  which,  if  he  means  anything,  Lord  Macaulay 
must  mean  that  they  were  not  "  men  of  sweet  voice  and 
becoming  gravity  to  raise  the  psalm,"  like  the  famous  P.  P., 
clerk  of  this  parish),  "argued  questions  of  peace  and  war,  of 
tribute  and  homage,  with  ability  worthy  of  Halifax  and  Car- 
marthen ;"  and  that  "minstrels  who  did  not  know  their  letters" 
produced  poems  in  which  the  "  tenderness  of  Otway "  was 
mingled  with  "  the  vigour  of  Dryden."  ^  What  the  honours 
of  a  hog-stye  may  be — whether  Halifax  or  Carmarthen  could 
»  Butt,  ii.  247.  2  Yo1_  ^^  307,  308. 


THE   HIGHLANDS   OF   SCOTLAND.  99 

"  adventure  to  lead  the  psalm,"  or  exercise  themselves  in 
"  singing  godly  ballads" — or  what  kind  of  verses  were  produced 
by  minstrels  who  were  unable  to  commit  them  to  writing,  and 
whose  productions  have  consequently  not  come  down  to  our 
day, — we  know  not.  But,  to  quote  a  homely  proverb,  two 
blacks  do  not  make  a  white ;  and  to  call  a  man  a  thief,  a  mur- 
derer, and  a  filthy,  abject,  ignorant,  illiterate  savage,  in  one 
line,  describing  him  in  the  next  as  graceful,  dignified,  and  full 
of  noble  sensibility  and  lofty  courtesy,  with  the  intellect  of  a 
statesman  and  the  genius  of  a  poet — gives  about  as  accurate 
a  picture  of  his  mind  and  manners  as  one  would  obtain  of  his 
features  by  two  reflections  taken  the  one  vertically  and  the 
other  horizontally  in  the  bowl  of  a  silver  spoon. 

Lord  Macaulay's  taste  for,  and,  we  are  bound  to  add,  his  ex- 
tensive knowledge  of,  the  most  worthless  productions  that 
have  survived  from  the  time  of  the  Revolution  to  our  own 
day,  is  amusing.  It  is  a  class  of  literature  which  would  have 
made  his  grandfather's  hair  stand  on  end.  It  is  enough  to 
make  the  staid  old  Quaker  turn  in  his  grave  to  think  of  his 
graceless  grandson  flirting  with  INIrs  Manley  and  Aphra  Behn. 
From  the  latter  lady  he  cites  ^  a  "  coarse  and  profane  Scotch 
poem,"  describing,  in  terms  which  he  is  too  modest  to  quote, 
"  how  the  first  Hielandman  was  made."  Possibly  it  is  the 
same  modesty,  and  a  feeling  of  reluctance  to  corrupt  his 
readers,  which  has  induced  Lord  IMacaulay  to  cite  a  volume  in 
which  this  poem  is  not  to  be  found.  In  that  volume,  how- 
ever, there  happens  to  be  a  description  of  a  Dutchman  equally 
indecent,  and,  though  Lord  Macaulay  may  perhaps  not  admit 
it,  equally  worthy  of  belief  Portraits  of  Irishmen,  just  as 
authentic,  abound  in  the  farces  which  were  popular  a  few 
years  later ;  and  even  now  the  English  gentleman  on  the 
French  stage,  with  his  mouth  full  of  "  rosbif  "  and  "  Goddams," 
threatens  to  "  sell  his  vife  at  Smitfield." 

If  Lord  Macaulay's  New  Zealander  should  take  to  writing 
history  after  the  fashion  of  his  great  progenitor,  he  may  per- 
haps paint  the  Welsh  in  colours  similar  to  and  upon  authorities 
as  trustworthy  as  those  Lord  Macaulay  has  used  and  relied 

»  Vol.  iii.  217. 


100  THR    Nr:\V    '    KXAMEN. 

u|»<»ii  ill  his  ])icturc  of  the  Scotch.     If  he  sliould,  his  descrip- 
tiuii  will  he  sonicthin^  of  tlic  following  kind  : — 

"  In  the  days  of  Queen  Victoria,  the  inliabitant  of  the 
Ti  incipality  was  a  savage  and  a  thief.  He  subsisted  by 
[)lun(l(>r.  The  plough  was  unknown.  He  snatched  from  his 
more  industrious  neighbour  his  Hocks  and  his  herds.  "NVlien 
the  flesh  he  thus  obtained  was  exhausted,  he  gnawed  the  bones 
like  a  dog,  until  hunger  compelled  him  again  to  visit  the 
homesteads  and  larders  of  England.  With  all  the  vices,  he 
had  few  or  none  of  the  virtues  of  the  savage.  He  was  un- 
grateful and  inhospitable.  That  this  was  his  character  is 
proved  by  verses  whicli  still  re-echo  in  the  nurseries  of  Bel- 
grave  Square  and  along  the  marches  of  Wales  : — 

' Taffy  was  a  AVtlshman, 
Taffy  was  a  thief ; 
Taffy  came  to  my  house, 
Stole  a  piece  of  beef. 
I  went  to  Taffy's  house, 
Taffy  was  from  home  : 
Taff}'  came  to  my  house, 
Stole  a  marrow-bone.'" 

This  is  every  bit  as  authentic  as  Lord  jMacaulay's  description 
of  the  Higlilanders.  Sucb  history  may  be  supplied  in  any 
quantity  and  at  the  shortest  notice.  All  that  is  necessary  is 
a  volume  of  contemporary  lampoons,  a  bundle  of  political  songs, 
or  a  memory  in  whicli  such  things  are  stored,  and  which  may 
save  the  trouble  of  reference.  The  genius  it  requires  is  a 
genius  for  being  abusive.  The  banks  of  the  Thames  and  the 
Cam  furnish  abundance  of  professors,  male  and  female,  of  the 
art  of  vituperation ;  but  as  Lord  Macaulay,  from  his  frequent 
repetition  of  the  same  terms  of  abuse,  seems  to  have  exhausted 
his  "  derangement  of  epitaphs,"  we  would  recommend  him  to 
turn  to  Viner's  Abridgment,  title  'Action  for  Words,'  where 
he  will  find  one  hundred  and  thirty  folio  pages  of  scolding, 
from  which  he  may  select  any  phrase  that  suits  his  purpose, 
with  the  advantage  of  knowing  also  the  nice  distinctions  by 
which  the  law  has  decided  what  words  are  and  what  are  not  ac- 
tionable, which  maybe  used  Nvith  impunity  against  the  living, 
and  which  must  be  reserved  for  the  safe  slander  of  the  dead. 


101 


IV. 

LORD  MACAULAY  AND  DUNDEE.^ 

Few  celebrated  men  have  suffered  more  injustice  at  the  hands 
of  posterity  than  John  Grahame  of  Claverhouse,  Viscount 
Dundee.  A  perverse  fate  seems  to  have  pursued  his  memory. 
Falling  upon  evil  days,  and  playing  an  important  part  in  the 
chasing  scenes  of  a  dark  and  tragic  period,  it  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  his  acts  should  have  been  misrepresented,  and 
his  character  distorted,  by  contemporary  malice  and  falsehood. 
But  the  ill  fortune  of  Claverhouse  has  pursued  him  to  our  oAvn 
times.  Sir  "Walter  Scott  once  remarked,  with  perfect  truth, 
"  that  no  character  had  been  so  foully  traduced  as  that  of  the 
Viscount  of  Dundee — that,  thanks  to  Wodrow,  Crookshank, 
and  such  chroniclers,  he,  who  was  every  inch  a  soldier  and  a 
gentleman,  still  passed  among  the  Scottish  vulgar  for  a  ruffian 
desperado,  who  rode  a  goblin  horse,  w^as  proof  against  shot, 
and  in  league  with  the  devil."  '^ 

Unhappily  it  is  not  among  the  Scottish  vulgar  alone  that 
misconception  as  to  the  character  of  Dundee  has  prevailed. 
It  is  indeed  only  very  lately,  and  principally  in  consequence 
of  the  reaction  produced  by  the  unscrupulous  virulence  of 
recent  attacks  upon  his  memory,  that  investigations  have 
been  made,  which  have  placed  his  character  in  a  truer  light, 
and  removed  the  load  of  obloquy  under  which  it  has  so 
long  and  so  unjustly  lain.  True  as  Sir  Walter  Scott's  instincts 
and  sympathies  were,  even  he  has  admitted  into  his  masterly 
portrait  of  Claverhouse  some  touches  darker  than  can  bo 
justified  by  Mliat  we  now  know  of  liis  character.     This  is  to 

1  Blackwood's  Miignzinc,  Aug.  1860. 
^  Lofkharf s  Life  of  Scott,  iv.  38. 


102  TIIK   NKW    "  EXAMEN. 

be  attributed  partly  to  tlie  fact  that  many  circumstances  have 
couK!  to  b"j^lit  since  'Old  Mortality'  was  written,  and  partly 
to  the  excellences  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  own  character,  which 
became,  by  excess,  defects.  His  acquaintance  with  the  times 
of  which  he  wrote  was  profound ;  his  power  of  reproducing 
the  character  he  depicted — of  evoking  not  merely  the  form 
and  lineaments  of  the  dead,  but  of  breathing  into  that  form 
the  veiy  soul  by  which  it  had  been  animated — was  unequalled 
by  any  but  Shakespeare  himself ;  and  his  mind  was  far  too 
great,  his  sympathies  too  catholic,  and  his  disposition  too 
generous,  to  permit  him  to  pervert  this  power  to  the  service 
of  party  aims,  or  the  promulgation  of  his  individual  opinions 
and  predilections.  His  fault  lay  in  the  opposite  direction. 
His  opponents  found  more  than  justice  at  his  hands,  whilst 
those  with  whose  opinions  and  characters  he  sympathised, 
sometimes  found  less.  He  has  adorned  Balfour  of  Burley 
with  a  wild  heroism  far  higher  than  should  be  awarded  to 
the  savage  murderer  of  Archbishop  Sharpe,  and  has  dealt  out 
but  scant  measure  of  justice  to  the  accomplished  and  chival- 
rous Grahame  of  Claverhouse. 

Lord  Macaulay's  errors  were  of  a  different  kind.  They  pro- 
ceeded from  a  too  eager  partisanship,  a  too  fervid  attachment 
to  the  creeds  and  traditions  of  the  party  to  which  he  belonged. 
AVe  liave  never  grudged  our  share  of  the  tribute  universally 
and  justly  paid  to  the  eloquence,  the  power,  the  varied  re- 
search, the  vast  knowledge,  which  combine  to  chain  the  reader 
by  a  magical  influence  to  the  pages  of  his  '  History.'  It  stands 
like  that  fair  cathedral,  whose  unfinished  towers  are  reflected 
in  the  waters  of  the  Piliine,  a  mighty  and  a  beautiful  fragment. 
We  trust  that  no  feebler  hand  will  attempt  its  completion ; 
and  we  indulge  with  pleasure  the  belief  that  future  volumes 
would  have  redeemed  the  injustice  into  which  an  impetuous 
temperament,  a  love  of  striking  and  picturesque  eftects, 
and  sometimes  a  natural,  though  dangerous,  delight  in  the 
exercise  of  his  own  powers,  have  too  often  betrayed  the 
historian. 

There  are  few  occurrences  that  so  deeply  impress  the  mind 
and  touch  the  heart,  as  when  a  noble  antagonist  is  struck 


VISCOUNT    DUNDEE.  103 

down  in  the  full  vigour  of  his  powers.  The  eloquent  pen 
which  placed  in  vivid  reality  before  our  eyes  the  defence  of 
Derry  and  the  trial  of  "NVarren  Hastings,  which  painted  the 
Court  of  Charles  II.  with  the  gaiety  of  Watteau,  and  the  Black 
Hole  of  Calcutta  with  the  power  of  Rembrandt,  has  dropped 
from  the  hand  that  guided  it ;  the  flashing  eye  which  heralded 
the  impetuous  words  to  which  we  have  often  listened  with 
deliglit  is  dim;  and  the  stores  of  that  marvellous  memory, 
where  priceless  jewels  and  worthless  trifles  were  alike  trea- 
sured up,  wiU  never  more  be  poured  out  in  prodigal  generosity 
for  our  instruction  and  delight. 

Justice  to  the  mighty  dead  with  whose  ashes  liis  own  are 
now  mingled,  has,  however,  frequently  compelled  us  to  point 
out  what  have  appeared  to  us  to  be  the  errors,  the  mistakes, 
and  the  faults  of  Lord  Macaulay's  '  History.' 

The  conqueror  of  Blenheim,  the  founder  of  Pennsylvania, 
the  hero  of  Killiecrankie,  and  the  victim  of  Glencoe,  stand 
now  no  further  from  us  than  he  whom  we  have  so  lately  lost, 
The'narrow  line  over  which  we  may  be  as  suddenly  summoned, 
is  all  that  separates  us.  Silent  shadows,  they  demand  equal 
justice.  But  we  enter  upon  our  present  task  with  mournful 
feelings,  and  we  trust  that  we  shall  keep  carefully  in  view, 
that  in  writing  of  the  dead  it  is  the  duty  no  less  of  the  critic 
than  of  the  historian  to  keep  ever  in  mind  that  he  is  dealing 
with  those  who  cannot  reply. 

Lord  Macaulay's  portrait  of  Claverhouse  is  dashed  in  with 
the  boldest  handling,  and  in  the  darkest  colours.  Every 
lineament  is  that  of  a  fiend.  Coiirage — the  courage  of  a 
demon  fearing  neither  God  nor  man — is  the  only  virtue,  if 
indeed  such  courage  can  be  called  a  virtue,  he  allows  him.  A 
few  lines  suffice  for  the  sketch  : — 

"  Pre-eminent  among  the  banils  ■which  oppressed  and  wasted  these 
unhappy  districts,  were  the  dragoons  commanded  by  John  Grahame  of 
Chiverhouse.  The  story  ran  that  these  wicked  men  u.sed  in  their  revels 
to  play  at  the  torments  of  hell,  and  to  call  each  other  by  the  names  of 
devils  and  damned  souls.  The  chief  of  this  Tophet,  a  soldier  of  dia- 
tinL,'uislipd  courage  and  professional  skill,  but  rapacious  and  profane,  of 
violent  temper  and  of  obdurate  heart,  has  left  a  name  Mhich,  wherever 
the  lScotti.sh  race  is  settled  on  tlie  face  of  the  globe,  is  mentioned  with  a 


1 0  1  'IIIP:    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

IHsculiiir  encrj,'}'  of  linlrt'il.  To  rccaiiitulate  all  the  crimcH  by  which  thirt 
mnn,  and  men  like  him,  goaileil  the  peasantry  of  the  Western  Lowlands 
into  madness,  would  be  an  endless  tjisk."* 

We  confess  that  we  are  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  extreme 
horror  witli  wliich  tlie  satanic  sports  of  the  soldiery  seem  to 
have  inspired  Lord  Macaulay.  One  would  not  expect  the 
amusement  of  troopers  to  be  of  the  most  refined  description  ; 
but  it  is  going  rather  far  to  conclude  that  a  dragoon  must 
necessarily  be  "  wild,  wicked,  and  hard-hearted,"  ^  because  he 
hits  a  comrade  across  the  shoulders  in  s^Dort,  and  calls  him 
Beelzebub.  Sportive  allusions  to  the  prince  of  darkness  and 
his  imps  do  not  necessarily  imply  allegiance  to  his  power. 
King  George  III.  was  certainly  a  pious  prince,  yet  "the  story 
runs,"  as  Lord  Macaulay  would  say,  that  when  Lord  Erskine 
presented  the  corps  of  volunteers  belonging  to  the  Inns  of 
Court  to  his  Majesty,  the  King  exclaimed,  "  What !  what !  all 
lawyers  ?  Call  them  the  Devil's  Own — call  them  the  Devil's 
Own."  And  "  the  Devil's  Own "  they  were  called  from  that 
day  forward  ;  their  learned  and  gallant  successors,  who  drill 
in  Lincoln's-Inn  Garden  and  King's  Bench  Walk  still  re- 
joicing in  the  same  infernal  designation,  and  being  rather 
proud  of  it.  We  remember  a  jeu  cVcsprit,  currently  ascribed 
to  an  eminent  Whig  pen,  which  ran  the  cii'cuit  of  the  papers 
some  twenty  years  ago,  in  which  every  eminent  member  of 
the  Tory  party  was  adorned  with  liis  particular  diabolical  cog- 
nomen. We  quote  from  memory,  but  we  have  a  very  distinct 
recollection  of  the  following  lines  as  a  part  of  the  catalogue : — 

"  Devils  of  wit  ami  devils  of  daring, 
Mcpliistopheles  Lyndhnrst  and  Manunon  Baring  ; 
Devils  of  wealth  and  devils  of  zeal, 
Belial  Croker  and  Beelzebub  Peel." 

Yet  we  never  heard  that  the  venerable  ex-chancellor  felt  his 
dignity  compromised,  or  that  Sir  Eobert  Peel  ever  considered 
whether  there  might  not  be  three  courses  open  to  him,  any 

'  Macaulay,  i.  498. 

-  "Those  Willi  and  hard-hearted  men,  who  nicknamed  one  another  Beekebub 
and  Aiwllyou."— Vol.  iii.  499. 


VISCOUNT   DUNDEE.  105 

one  of  which  he  miglit  select  to  punish  the  audacious  poet. 
Nor,  we  conceive,  would  Lord  IMacaulay  have  denounced  him 
as  "  wicked  and  profane." 

To  descend  from  kings  and  statesmen  to  "  mortal  men  and 
miscreants,"  we  remember  when  the  "  Olympic  Devils " 
was  the  most  popular  of  all  amusements.  It  was  in  our 
younger  days  when,  in  that  pleasant  little  theatre  behind  the 
Strand  Church,  men,  and  women  too,  used  to  "  play  at  the 
torments  of  hell,"  and  to  call  each  other  by  very  diabolical 
names.  Yet  the  chief  of  that  Topliet  in  Wych  Street,  an 
actress  of  distinguished  beauty  and  professional  skill,  was, 
we  trust,  neither  rapacious  nor  profane,  and  certainly  not 
of  violent  temper  nor  obdurate  heart,  and  has  left  a  name 
which,  wherever  the  English  race  is  settled  on  the  face  of  the 
globe,  is  mentioned  with  a  peculiar  energy  of  anything  but 
hatred. 

To  come  to  more  important  matters :  When  Lord  Macaulay 
asserts  that  Claverhouse  was  one  of  those  whose  conduct 
"goaded  the  peasantry  of  the  Western  Lowlands  into  mad- 
ness," he  shows  an  utter  disregard  both  of  facts  and  dates. 
There  is  probably  but  one  opinion  now  as  to  the  insanity  of 
the  attempt  to  force  Episcopacy  upon  Scotland.  But  Prelacy 
was  restored  in  May  1002  ;  ^  the  ministers  were  ejected  in 
the  month  of  November  in  the  same  year.^  The  Court  of 
.Ecclesiastical  Commission  commenced  its  proceedings  in  lOO-i.^ 
The  military  oppressions  raged  in  1665.*  The  insurrection 
which  terminated  in  the  defeat  of  Pentland  took  place  the 
following  year.  Then  followed  countless  executions,  civil 
and  military.  The  boot  and  the  gibbet  were  in  constant 
employment.  In  1668  the  life  of  Sharpe  was  attempted  by 
Mitchell.  In  1670,  rigorous  laws  were  passed  against  con- 
venticles ;  at  the  same  time,  the  tyranny  and  insolence  of 
Lauderdale  excited  universal  hatred  and  disgust.  In  1676 
the  proceedings  of  the  Government  became  even  more  severe. 
"  Letters  of  intercommuning,"  as  they  were  called,  were  issued, 

1  Laing,  ii.  21,  Ist  edit.,  vol  iv.  of  2(1  edit.  •'  Ibid.,  34. 

-  Ibid.,  ii.  27.  '  Ibid.,  ii.  35. 


IOC,  TIIK    NFAV    "  HXAMKN. 

(IciiMuiKiiiL;  tlie  severest  penalties  against  all  who  should 
iilloid  meat,  drink,  or  shelter  to  an  outlaw.^  The  field- 
l)rt'achors  were  hunted  down  by  the  soldiery,  hut  their  hearers 
rallied  round  them,  and  contests,  frequently  bloody,  and  often 
of  doubtful  issue,  occurred.  The  Bass  was  converted  into  a 
l)rison,  the  dungeons  of  which  were  crowded  with  captive 
ministers;  and  the  Highland  host  was  called  in  to  ravage 
the  unhappy  Western  Lowlands  at  the  latter  end  of  1077.'^ 

These  wore  the  outrages  by  which  the  country  was  "  goaded 
into  madness."  But  Claverhouse  had  not,  nor  could  he  have 
had  any  part  or  share  whatever  in  them.  He  was  absent  from 
the  country,  serving  in  France  and  Holland,  the  whole  of  the 
time  during  which  they  were  committed,  and  did  not  return 
to  Scotland  until  the  early  part  of  the  year  1678.3  The  first 
mention  of  him  that  occurs  in  Wodrow  is  in  May  1679,  im- 
mediately before  the  skirmish  of  Dmmclog.  Lord  Macaulay 
had  Wodrow  before  him — he  refers  to  him  as  his  sole  authority 
for  this  passage  ;  yet  it  is  upon  Wodrow's  pages  that  the  dates 
and  facts  are  to  be  found  which  contradict  his  deliberate  and 
often-repeated  assertion. 

Lord  Macaulay  selects  five  instances  of  the  crimes  "by 
which  the  peasantry  of  the  Western  Lowlands  were  goaded 
into  madness."'*  An  ordinary  reader  would  certainly  infer 
from  his  langiiage  that  Claverhouse  was  concerned  in  all  these 
instances,  and  would  be  somewhat  surprised,  after  perusing 
Lord  ^Macaulay's  narrative,  to  find,  on  turning  to  his  authority, 
that  in  three  out  of  the  five  cases,  Claverhouse  had  no  share 
whatever,  and  that  in  a  fourth  he  acted  the  part  of  an  inter- 
cessor for  mercy,  and  exerted  himself  in  vain  to  save  the  life 
of  the  victim.  In  the  most  cruel  of  all — that  of  ^Margaret 
INIaclachlan  and  ^Margaret  Wilson — we  find,  on  referring  to 
Wodrow,  that  a  Colonel  Graham  was  concerned,  but  it  was 
Colonel  David  Graham,  the  sheriff  of  Wigtownshire,  not 
Colonel  John  Grahame  of  Claverhouse.^  Lord  Macaulay 
might  as  well  have  confounded  David  Hume  with  Joseph 

1  Laing,  ii.  48,  56,  68.  =  "Wodrow,  i.  453-480,  fol. 

*  Napier,  Memoirs  of  Dundee,  182-5.  *  Ibid.,  i.  A^^,  1S49:  ii.  73,  1S5S. 

••  Wodrow,  ii.  505  ;  Crooksliank,  ii.  3SG. 


VISCOUNT   DUNDEE.  107 

Hume,  or,  as  he  has  done  upon  other  occasions,  Patrick  Graham 
of  the  Town  Guard  with  the  hero  of  Killiecrankie,  and  George 
Penne  with  the  founder  of  Pennsylvania.  Even  in  this  case, 
cruel  and  atrocious  as  it  was,  Lord  Macaulay  misquotes  his 
authorities.  He  asserts  that  these  unhappy  M'onien  "  suffered 
death  for  their  religion."  Wodrow  and  Crookshank,  on  the 
contrary,  distinctly  state  that  they  were  indicted  and  con- 
victed for  being  in  open  rebellion  at  Bothwell  Bridge  and 
Aird's  Moss.  Lord  IMacaulay  also  omits  to  mention  what  is 
stated  by  the  historians  he  refers  to — namely,  that  upon  the 
case  being  brought  to  the  notice  of  the  Council,  the  prisoners 
were  respited,  and  a  pardon  recommended,  but  that  the  exe- 
cation  was  hurried  on  by  the  brutality  of  Major  Windram  and 
the  Laird  of  Lagg.^ 

In  the  case  of  Andrew  Hislop,  Lord  Macaulay  says  that  the 
Laird  of  Westerhall  having  discovered  that  one  of  the  pro- 
scribed Covenanters  had  found  shelter  in  the  house  of  a 
respectable  widow,  and  had  died  there,  "  pulled  down  the 
house  of  the  poor  woman,  carried  away  her  furniture,  and, 
leaving  her  and  her  younger  children  to  wander  in  the  fields, 
drar/ged  her  son  Andrew,  who  ivas  still  a  lad,  hcfore  Clavcrhouse, 
who  ha2>j)cncd  to  he  marching  through  that  ^j«r^  of  the  country. 
Claverhouse  was  that  day  strangely  lenient.  Some  thought 
that  he  had  not  been  quite  himself  since  the  death  of  the 
Christian  Carrier,  ten  days  before.  But  "Westerhall  M'as  eager 
to  signalise  his  loyalty,  and  extorted  a  sullen  consent.'"-^ 

For  this  Lord  Macaulay  cites  Wodrow,  but  Wodrow 's  story 
is  very  different.  It  was  not  Westerhall  that  brought  Hislop 
a  prisoner  before  Claverhouse,  but  Claverhouse  that  brought 
him  before  Westerliall,  who,  it  is  evident  from  the  whole 
narrative,  at  that  time  possessed  an  authority  superior  to 
that  of  Claverhouse.     Wodrow  narrates  the  barbarous  cxpul- 

^  Crook.sliank.  Since  the  above  passage  was  written,  tlie  industry  of  Mr 
Mark  Napier  seems  to  have  estalilislieil  pretty  conclusively  that  these  women 
never  were  drowned  at  all,  and  tluit  the  whole  story  of  their  execution  or 
niurdi-r,  whichever  it  was,  is  a  fabrication. 

Tliis  subject  will  be  found  discussed  in  a  subsciiucnt  part  of  the  [)resent 
volume.     See  ;w.s<,  "The  "Wigtown  Martyrs." 

-  Macaulay,  ii.  76,  ed.  1S5S. 


108  TIN-:    Ni;W    "   KXAMKN. 

sioii  of  llii-  widitw  iiiid  her  cliildrcii  in  tlic  following  words  : 
"  WlHii'cupoii  "We.stcrmw  went  ininicdiatdy  to  tho  liou.se,  and 
sj»oiled  it,  taking  away  everything  that  was  jjortable,  and 
pulled  down  the  house,  putting  the  woman  and  her  children 
to  the  fields.  "When  thus  they  are  forced  to  wander,  Claver- 
liouse  falls  upon  Andrew  llislop  in  the  fields.  May  10,  and 
seized  him,  without  any  design,  as  aiij^carcd,  to  murder  him, 
bringing  him  prisoner  with  him  to  Eskdale  unto  Westcrraw,  that 
night."  1 

Wodrow  adds :  "  Claverhouse  in  this  instance  was  very 
backward,  perhaps  not  wanting  his  own  reflections  upon  John 
Brown's  murder  the  first  of  this  month,  as  we  have  heard,  and 
pressed  the  delay  of  the  execution.  But  AVesterraw  urged  till 
the  other  yielded,  saying,  *  The  blood  of  this  poor  man  be  upon 
you,  Westcrraw;  I  am  free  of  it!  " '^ 

This  is  the  story  as  told  by  the  bitterest  enemy  of  Claver- 
house. It  is  impossible  for  any  one  who  looks  at  it  with  the 
slightest  candour,  or  desire  to  discern  the  truth,  not  to  per- 
ceive that  the  influence  of  Claverhouse  was  exercised  on  the 
side  of  humanity  and  mercy.  Why  does  Lord  Macaulay, 
whose  narrative  so  frequently,  without  any  authority  whatever, 
assumes  the  dramatic  form,  in  this  instance  suppress  the 
words  of  Claverhouse,  graphically  recorded  both  by  Wodrow 
and  Crookshank,  "  The  blood  of  this  poor  man  be  upon  you, 
Westerraw ;  I  am  free  of  it "  ? 

We  now  come  to  the  only  authority  (except  vulgar  tradi- 
tion) that  Lord  JNIacaulay  has  given  for  his  character  of 
Claverhouse.  It  is  the  often-repeated  story  of  "  John  Brovrn, 
the  Christian  Carrier."  Immediately  upon  the  appearance 
of  the  first  volume  of  Lord  Macaulay's  '  History,'  Professor 
Aytouu  challenged  the  correctness  of  his  picture  of  Claver- 
house, and  in  a  note  to  his  noble  and  spirit-stirring  "  Burial- 
March  of  Dundee,"  exposed,  by  means  of  the  most  accurate 
reasoning  and  the  most  conclusive  evidence,  the  errors  into 
which  the  historian  had  fallen.  It  is  much  to  be  regretted 
that  Lord  Macaulay,  who  availed  himself  of  the  coiTections  of 
the  Professor  upon  some  minor  points,  did  not  exercise  the 

'  Wodrow,  ii.  507.  *  Ibid. 


VISCOUNT   DUNDEE.  109 

same  discretion  on  this  more  important  matter.  The  picture 
of  Claverhouse,  and  the  story  of  John  Bro\s'ii,  have  reappeared 
unaltered  in  each  successive  edition  that  has  issued  from  the 
press.     We  quote  from  the  one  published  in  1858  : — 

"  John  BrowTi,  a  poor  carrier  of  Lanarkshire,  was,  for  his  pin<(iilar 
piety,  commonly  called  the  Cliristian  Carrier.  Many  years  later,  when 
Scotland  enjoyed  rest,  prosj)erity,  and  religious  freedom,  old  men,  who 
remembered  the  evil  days,  descril^ed  him  as  one  versed  in  divine  things, 
blameless  in  life,  and  so  peaceable  that  the  tyrants  could  find  no  offence 
in  him,  except  that  he  absented  himself  from  the  public  worship  of  the 
Episcopalians.  On  the  first  of  May  he  was  cutting  turf,  when  he  was 
seized  by  Claverhouse's  dragoons,  rapidly  examined,  convicted  of  noncon- 
formity, and  sentenced  to  death.  It  is  said  that,  even  among  the  soldiers, 
it  was  not  easy  to  find  an  executioner.  For  the  wife  of  the  poor  man  was 
present  :  she  led  one  child  by  the  hand  :  it  was  easy  to  see  that  she  was 
about  to  give  Ijirtli  to  another  ;  and  even  those  wild  and  hard-hearted 
men,  who  nicknamed  one  another  Beelzebub  and  Apollyon,  shrank  from 
the  great  wickedness  of  butchering  her  husliand  before  her  face.  The 
prisoner,  meanwhile,  raised  above  himself  by  the  near  prospect  of  eter- 
nity, prayed  loud  and  fervently,  as  one  inspired,  till  Claverhouse,  in  a 
fury,  shot  him  dead.  It  was  reported  by  crediljle  witnesses  that  the 
widow  cried  out  in  her  agony,  '  Well,  sir,  well,  the  day  of  reckoning  A\-ill 
come  ; '  and  that  the  murderer  replied,  '  To  man  I  can  answer  for  wliat  I 
have  done. — and  as  for  God,  I  will  take  Him  into  mine  own  hand.'  Yet  it 
was  rumoured  tliat  even  on  his  seared  conscience  and  adamantine  heart 
the  dying  ejaculations  of  his  victim  made  an  impression  which  was  never 
eflaced."  ^ 

This  story  of  John  Brown  affords  a  curious  example  of  tlie 
mode  in  which  calumnies  are  propagated  and  grow ;  and  at 
the  risk  of  some  repetition  of  what  has  already  been  so  well 
done  by  Professor  Aytouu,  we  shall  proceed  to  trace  the  false- 
hood to  its  source. 

Lord  Macaulay  cites  as  his  authority  "  Wodrow,  iii.  ix.  G." 
But  though  following  him  in  the  main,  Lord  j\Iacaiday  seems 
to  have  been  conscious  that  Wodrow's  narrative  would  not 
bear  the  test  of  critical  examination. - 

1  Macaulay,  i.  490,  8vo,  ii.  74  ;  edit.  1858. 

-  'Woibow's  narrative  is  as  follows  :  "This  pood  man  had  conic  homo  and 
was  at  his  work,  near  liis  own  house  in  Prii'stfuld,  casting  peats.  C'lavcrliouse 
was  coming  from  Losmahago  with  three  troops  of  dragoons  ;  whether  he  hud 
got  any  information  of  John's  i)iety  and  nonconformity  I  cannot  tell,  but  he 
caused  bring  him  up  to  liis  own  door,  from  the  place  where  he  was.     I  do  not 


1  10  THE   NEW    '    EXAM  EN. 

Wixlrow  asserts  that  the  soldiers  were  melted  and  moved  by 
the  "Scriptural  expressions  and  grace  of  x>rayer"  of  Jolin 
I'rown,  and  mutinied,  refusing  to  execute  the  commands  of 
thi'ir  ollicer.  Tliis  seems  to  have  heen  too  gross  and  palpable 
an  improbability  for  Lord  ^Macaulay,  who  represents  them  as 
merely  moved  l)y  the  natural  feeling  of  compassion  for  the  un- 
happy wife.  This  is  certainly  a  more  probable  story,  but  it  is 
710^  the  tale  told  by  Wodrow.  Again,  Lord  Macaulay  asserts 
that  Claverhonse  shot  John  Brown  dead  in  a  fit  of  passion, 
excited  by  his  loud  and  fervent  prayers.  Wodrow's  statement 
is  veiy  different.  He  says  that  "  not  one  of  the  soldiers 
would  shoot  him,  or  obey  Claverhouse's  commands,  so  that  he 
vas  forced  to  turn  executioner  himself,  and  in  a  fret  shot  him 
with  his  own  hand."  ^  Wodrow,  it  will  be  seen,  asserts  posi- 
tively the  refusal  of  the  soldiers,  and  attributes  the  act  of 
Claverhouse  to  that  refusal.  Lord  Macaulay  confines  his 
statement  to  a  natural  reluctance  on  the  part  of  the  soldiers, 
and  attributes  the  act  of  Claverhouse  to  a  sudden  gust  of 
brutal  and  furious  passion.  It  is  painful  to  obser\'e,  and 
difficult  to  believe,  the  extent  to  which  Lord  Macaulay  has 

find  that  they  were  at  much  trouble  with  him  in  interrogations  and  questions  ; 
we  see  them  now  almost  wearied  of  that  leisurely  way  of  doing  business  ; 
neither  do  any  of  my  informations  bear  that  the  Abjuration  Oath  was  ofTered 
to  him. 

"  With  some  difficiilty  he  was  allowed  to  pray,  which  he  did  with  the 
greatest  liberty  and  melting,  and  withal,  in  such  suitable  and  Scriptural 
expressions,  and  in  a  peculiar  judicial  style,  he  having  great  measures  of  the 
gift  as  well  as  the  grace  of  prayer,  that  the  soldiers  were  aflfected  and  aston- 
ished ;  yea,  which  is  yet  more  singular,  such  convictions  were  left  in  their 
bosoms,  that,  as  my  informations  bear,  not  one  of  them  would  shoot  him,  or 
obey  Claverhouse's  command,  so  that  he  was  forced  to  turn  executioner  him- 
self, and  in  a  fret  shot  him  with  his  own  hand,  before  his  own  door,  his  wife 
with  a  young  infant  stautling  by,  and  she  very  near  the  time  of  her  delivery 
of  another  child. 

"When  tears  and  entreaties  could  not  prevail,  and  Claverhouse  had  shot 
him  dead,  I  am  credibly  informed  the  widow  said  to  him,  '  Well,  sir,  you  must 
give  an  account  of  what  you  have  done.'  Claverhouse  answered,  'To  men,  I 
can  be  answerable;  and  as  for  God,  I'll  take  Him  into  my  own  hand.'  I  am 
well  informed  that  Claverhouse  himself  frequently  acknowledged  afterwards, 
that  John  Brown's  prayer  left  such  impressions  upon  his  spirit,  that  he  could 
never  get  altogether  worn  ofl',  when  he  gave  himself  liberty  to  think  of  it." — 
Wodrow,  ii.  503. 

'  Wodrow,  B.  iii.,  c.  ix. 


VISCOUNT    DUNDEE.  Ill 

considered  himself  entitled  to  alter  and  pervert  the  authority 
he  quotes  ;  and  it  is  strange  that  he  should  have  adopted, 
upon  the  sole  authority  of  Wodrow,  a  story  which  he  yet 
appears  to  have  felt  to  be  so  grossly  improbable,  that  he  could 
not  produce  it  until  he  had  pruned  down  some  of  its  most 
extravagant  features. 

Wodrow's  narrative  first  appeared  in  1722^ — thirty-seven 
years  after  the  event  is  supposed  to  have  taken  place,  and 
thirty-four  after  the  Eevolution.  Professor  Ayton  justly 
remarks  that — 

"  These  dates  are  of  the  utmost  importance  in  considering  a 
matter  of  this  kind.  The  Episcopalian  party  which  adhered 
to  the  cause  of  King  James  was  driven  from  power  at  the 
lievolution,  and  the  Episcopal  Church  proscribed.  No  mercy 
was  shown  to  opponents  in  the  literary  war  which  followed. 
Every  species  of  invective  and  vituperation  was  lavished 
upon  the  supporters  of  the  fallen  dynasty.  Yet  for  thirty- 
three  years  after  the  Revolution,  the  details  of  this  atrocious 
murder  were  never  revealed  to  the  puhlic."  - 

Wodrow  gives  no  authority  whatever  for  his  narrative. 
But  there  is  another  historian,  Patrick  Walker  the  packman, 
who,  two  years  after  the  appearance  of  Wodrow's  '  History ' — 
namely,  in  1724 — gave  a  very  different,  and  in  many  respects 
a  contradictory,  accoiint  of  the  same  transaction. 

Professor  Aytoun,  with  rather  an  excess  of  candour,  says 
that  "  Mr  Macaulay  may  not  have  known  that  such  testimony 
ever  existed,  for  even  the  most  painstaking  historian  is  sure 
to  pass  over  some  material  in  so  wide  a  field."  It  is  difficult 
to  suppose  that  Lord  jNIacaulay  could  have  been  unaware  (tf 
the  existence  of  a  story  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  twice 
repeated  at  full  length ;  first  in  the  notes  to  the  '  IMinstrelsy 
of  the  Scottish  Porder; '^  and,  secondly,  in  the  'Tales  of  a 
Grandfather,' '  in  both  cases  citing  Walker's  '  Life  of  Peden ' 
as  his  authority.     But  besides  this  there  is  other  evidence  of 

'  The  first  volume  was  published  in  1721,  the  second  in  1722. 
2  Lays  of  the  Scottish  Cavaliers,  App.,  .334. 
»  Note  to  the  "  Battle  of  Hothwell  Brig." 
*  History  of  Scotland,  a  lii. 


1  rj  TIFK    NKW    "  EXAMEN. 

\ho.  liilsehood  of  Woclrow,  which  it  is  difficult  to  account  for 
liis  having  overlooked. 

In  1749  the  llev.  William  Crookshank  published  his  '  His- 
tory of  the  State  and  Suflcvings  of  the  Church  of  Scotland.' 
In  the  preface  he  says — 

"  When  I  first  engaged  in  this  undertaking,  I  only  intended 
to  ahridge  Mr  Wodrovv's  'History;'  but  by  the  advice  of 
friends  I  was  induced  to  use  other  hel])S  for  making  the 
history  of  this  persecuting  period  more  clear  and  full.  Ac- 
cordingly, when  I  mention  anything  not  to  be  found  in 
Wodrow,  I  generally  tell  my  author,  or  quote  him  in  the  mar- 
gin ;  so  that  though  fherc  is  nothing  I  thowjht  material  in  that 
author  irhich  J  have  omitted,  yet  the  reader  will  find  many 
things  of  consequence  in  the  following  work  which  the  other 
takes  no  notice  of."  ^ 

When  Crookshank  arrives  at  that  part  of  his  '  History ' 
which  relates  to  John  Brown,  he  abandons  Wodrow  altogether 
and  adopts  W^alker's  narrative,  citing  him  in  the  margin  as 
his  authority.-  Here,  then,  we  find  Wodrow  contradicted  by 
the  contemporary  authority  of  Walker  ;  Crookshank,  the  dis- 
ciple and  follower  of  Wodrow,  confirming  that  contradiction, 
and  feeling  himself  obliged  to  discard  his  master's  story ;  Sir 
Walter  Scott  casting  the  weight  of  his  authority  into  the  same 
scale ;  and  yet  Lord  Macaulay,  with  all  this  evidence  before 
him,  added  to  the  gross  improbability  of  the  tale  itself,  repro- 
duces Wodrow's  story  in  edition  after  edition,  with  certain 
alterations  purely  his  own,  and  calls  it  History ! 

Walker  hated  Claverhouse  with  a  hatred  fully  as  bitter  as 
that  of  ^^'odrow  ;  he  cannot,  therefore,  be  suspected  of  having 
suppressed  or  softened  down  any  circumstance  that  could  tell 
against  him,  or  enhance  the  tragic  nature  of  the  scene.  He 
states  that  he  derived  part,  at  least,  of  his  account  from  the 
widow  of  the  murdered  man ;  the  testimony  he  relies  upon  is 
therefore  that  most  hostile  to  Claverhouse.  Walker  was  a 
contemporary  of  Wodrow,  though  many  years  older,  and  had 
borne  a  part  in  the  troubled  times  to  which  the  '  History '  of 
the  latter  relates.  In  1682  he  shot  a  dragoon  who  attempted 
^  Crookshank,  rreface,  xix.  -  Yol.  ii.  375,  376. 


VISCOUNT   DUNDEE.  113 

to  capture  him.  According  to  Walker's  owu  account,  he  and 
two  of  his  comrades,  returning  from  a  nightly  meeting  armed 
with  firearms,  were  pursued  by  one  Francis  Garden,  a  trooper 
in  Lord  Airley's  regiment,  alone,  and  armed  only  with  his 
sword.  How  he  intended  to  capture  his  prisoners,  unless 
after  the  Irish  fashion  of  "  surrounding  "  theui,  does  not  very 
clearly  appear.  The  result,  however,  was,  that  Walker  shot 
him  through  the  head.  Writing  more  than  thirty  years  after 
the  event,  and  when,  according  to  Lord  Macaulay,  "  Scotland 
enjoyed  rest,  prosperity,  and  religious  freedom,"  he  says — 
"  When  I  saw  his  blood  run,  I  wished  that  all  the  blood  of  the 
Lord's  stated  and  avowed  enemies  in  Scotland  had  been  in  his 
veins  :  having  such  a  clear  call  and  opportunity,  /  would  have 
rejoiced  to  have  seen  it  all  gone  out  loith  a  gush."  ^ 

We  may  therefore  feel  well  assured  that  nothing  which 
could  be  told  against  such  a  "  stated  and  avowed  enemy  of 
the  Lord  "  as  Claverhouse,  would  be  omitted  by  Walker ;  and 
it  should  at  least  throw  a  doubt  on  the  veracity  of  Wodrow 
when  we  find  so  zealous  a  Covenanter  denouncing  his  '  His- 
tory '  as  a  collection  of  "  lies  and  groundless  stories." 

Walker's  '  Life  of  Peden'  first  appeared  in  1724,  three  years 
after  the  publication  of  Wodrow's  '  History.'  It  is  still  widely 
circulated  and  extremely  popular  amongst  the  peasants  of 
Scotland,  and  has  been  frequently  reprinted  up  to  the  present 
time  in  the  form  of  a  chap-book.  That  even  this  account, 
though  more  trustworthy  than  that  of  Wodrow,  is  not  to  be 
received  with  implicit  confidence,  will,  we  think,  be  admit- 
ted, when  it  is  observed  that  the  story  is  first  revealed  in 
a  miraculous  manner  to  the  inspired  ]\Ir  Peden,  or  as  he 
commonly  caUs  himself,  "  Old  Sandy."  On  the  morning  of 
John  Brown's  death,  Peden  was  at  a  house  about  ten  or  eleven 
miles  distant. 

"  Betwixt  seven  and  eight  lie  desired  to  call  in  the  family 
that  he  might  pray  among  them.  He  said,  '  Lord,  when  wilt 
Thou  avenge  Brown's  bltjod  ?  Oh,  let  Brown's  blood  be  pre- 
cious in  Thy  sight,  and  liasten  the  day  when  Tliou'lt  avenge  it, 
with   Cameron's,  Cargill's,  and   many  other  of  our  martyrs' 

'  I/ifc  of  Peden  ;  Napier's  Menmrials  of  Dumlcc,  157. 

n 


114  TJIK    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

namos.  And  oh  lor  thut  day  when  the  Lord  would  avenge 
all  tlioir  bloods  ! '  When  ended,  John  Muirhead  inquired 
what  he  meant  by  Urown's  blood  ?  He  said  twice  over, 
'  What  do  I  mean  ?  Claverhouse  has  been  at  the  Preshill 
this  morning,  and  has  cruelly  murdered  John  Brown.  His 
corpse  is  lying  at  the  end  of  his  house,  and  his  poor  wife 
sitting  weeping  by  his  corpse,  and  not  a  soul  to  speak  com- 
fortably to  her.  This  morning,  after  the  sun-rising,  I  saw  a 
strange  apparition  in  the  firmament,  the  appearance  of  a  very 
bright,  clear,  shining  star  fall  from  heaven  to  earth ;  and, 
indeed,  there  is  a  clear,  shining  light  fallen  this  day,  the 
greatest  Christian  that  ever  I  conversed  with.' "  ^ 

Walker's  narrative  of  the  death  of  Brown  is  as  follows. 
Between  five  and  six  in  the  morning,  he  says — 

"  The  said  John  Brown  having  performed  the  worship  of 
God  in  his  family,  was  going,  with  a  spade  in  his  hand,  to 
make  ready  some  peat  ground.  The  mist  being  very  dark,  he 
knew  not  until  cruel  and  bloody  Claverhouse  compassed  him 
with  three  troops  of  horse,  brought  him  to  his  house,  and 
there  examined  him ;  who,  though  he  was  a  man  of  a  stam- 
mering speech,  yet  answered  him  distinctly  and  solidly,  which 
made  Claverhouse  to  examine  those  whom  he  had  taken  to  be 
his  guides  through  the  muirs,  if  ever  they  heard  him  preach  ? 
They  answered,  '  No,  no  ;  he  was  never  a  preacher.'  He  said, 
'  If  he  has  never  preached,  meikle  he  has  prayed  in  his  time.' 
He  said  to  John,  '  Go  to  your  prayers,  for  you  shall  immedi- 
ately die.'  When  he  was  praying,  Claverhouse  interrupted 
him  three  times  ;  one  time  that  he  stopt  him,  he  was  pleading 
that  the  Lord  would  spare  a  remnant,  and  not  make  a  full 
end  in  the  day  of  His  anger.  Claverhouse  said,  '  I  gave  you 
time  to  pray,  and  ye  are  begun  to  preach.'  He  turned  upon 
his  knees  and  said,  '  Sir,  you  know  neither  the  nature  of 
preacliing  or  praying,  that  calls  this  preaching.'  Then  con- 
tinued without  confusion.  Wlien  ended,  Claverhouse  said, 
'  Take  good-night  of  your  wife  and  children.'  His  wife,  stand- 
ing by  with  her  child  in  her  arms  that  she  had  brought  forth 
to  him,  and  another  child  of  his  first  wife's,  ho  came  to  her 

'  Bio.  Pros.  i.  75;   Life  of  Pcden. 


VISCOUNT   DUNDEE.  115 

and  said,  '  Now,  Marian,  the  day  is  come  that  I  told  you 
would  come,  when  I  spake  first  to  you  of  marrying  me,'  She 
said, '  Indeed,  John,  I  can  willingly  part  with  you.'  '  Then,' 
he  said,  '  tliis  is  all  .1  desire  ;  I  have  no  more  to  do  but  die.' 
He  kissed  his  wife  and  bairns,  and  wished  purchased  and 
promised  blessings  to  be  multiplied  upon  them,  and  his  bless- 
ing. Claverhouse  ordered  six  soldiers  to  shoot  him.  The 
most  part  of  the  bullets  came  upon  his  head,  which  scattered 
his  brains  upon  the  ground.  Claverhouse  said  to  his  wife, 
'  What  thinkest  thou  of  thy  husband  now,  woman  ? '  She 
said, '  I  thought  ever  much  of  him,  and  now  as  much  as  ever.' 
He  said,  'It  were  but  justice  to  lay  thee  beside  him.'  She 
said,  '  If  you  were  permitted,  I  doubt  not  but  your  crueltie 
would  go  that  length ;  but  how  will  ye  make  answer  for  this 
morning's  work  ? '  He  said,  '  To  man  I  can  be  answerable  ; 
and  for  God,  I  will  take  Him  in  my  own  hand.'  Claverhouse 
mounted  his  horse,  and  marched,  and  left  her  with  the  corpse 
of  her  dead  husband  lying  there  ;  she  set  the  bairn  on  the 
ground,  and  gathered  his  brains,  and  tied  up  his  head,  and 
straighted  his  body,  and  covered  him  in  her  plaid,  and  sat 
down  and  wept  over  him.  It  being  a  very  desert  place,  where 
never  victual  grew,  and  far  from  neighbours,  it  was  some  time 
before  any  friends  came  to  her.  The  first  that  came  was  a 
very  fit  hand,  that  old  singular  Christian  woman  in  the  Cum- 
merhead,  named  Elizabeth  Menzies,  three  miles  distant,  who 
had  been  tried  with  the  violent  death  of  her  husband  at 
Pentland,  afterwards  of  two  worthy  sons — Thomas  Weir,  who 
was  killed  at  Drumclog,  and  David  Steel,  who  was  suddenly 
shot  afterwards  when  taken.  The  said  Marian  Weir,  sitting 
upon  her  husband's  grave,  told  me,  that  before  that  she  could 
see  no  blood  but  she  was  in  danger  to  faint,  and  yet  she  was 
helped  to  be  a  witness  to  all  this  without  either  fainting 
or  confusion ;  except  when  the  shots  were  let  off,  her  eyes 
dazzled."  ^ 

That  this  wild,  picturesque,  and  touching  stoiy  should  have 
taken  strong  hold  on  the  poetical  imagination  and  kind  heart 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  can  be  no  matter  of  surprise  to  afty  one. 

*  Lift'  of  Pedcn  ;  niof^niphb  Prc'slntciiaua,  i.  72,  74. 


110  THK    NEW    "  EXAMEN. 

That  it  did  so,  is  shown,  not  only  by  liis  frequent  reference  to 
it,  hut  hy  the  mode  in  which  liis  genius  has  interwoven  some 
of  the  most  aftcctin-,^  incidents  into  the  beautiful  episode  of 
JJcssie  Maclurc.'     Jkit  the  historian  had.  a  far  diilerent  task 
from  that  of  the  novelist.     His  duty  was  to  compare  the  two 
narratives,  and  to  examine  how  much  of  eitlier  should  be 
admitted  as  trustworthy  evidence.     That  Walker's  testimony 
is  sufficient  to  convict  Wodrow  of  falsehood  in  asserting  that 
the  soldiers  mutinied,  and  that  Claverhouse  was  himself  the 
executioner  of  John  Brown,  is  abundantly  clear.     Walker's 
informant  was  the  widow  of  John  Brown,  an  eyewitness  of 
the  transaction.     She  told  the  story  "  sitting  on  her  husband's 
grave."     To  suppose  that  she  could  have  omitted  such  a  cir- 
cumstance as  that  her  husband's  eloquence  had  moved  the 
hearts  of  the  soldiers  to  mutiny,  and  compelled  their  com- 
mander to   take   upon    himself   the   revolting    office   of   an 
executioner,  \vould  be  absurd.     Nor  is  this  all.     We  find  the 
circumstances  of  his  death  narrated  with  the  utmost  particu- 
larity, no  doubt  by  the  widow  herself,  and  there  is  not  from 
beginning  to  end  a  hint  that  the  soldiers  shrank  from  exe- 
cuting the  commands  of  their  ofiicer.     But  when  we  come  to 
the  adjuncts  of  the  story,  to  the  conversation,  to  the  particular 
expressions  supposed  to  have  been  used  by  Claverhouse,  to  his 
imputed  "  obduracy  and  profanity,"  his   "  seared  conscience 
and  adamantine  heart,"  the  question  assumes  a  very  difierent 
aspect. 

The  poetical  power  of  Walker's  mind  was  of  no  mean  order. 
As  Sir  Walter  Scott  observes,  his  "  simple  but  affecting  narra- 
tive," and  his  "  imitation  of  Scriptural  style,  produces  in  some 
passages  an  effect  not  unlike  what  we  feel  in  reading  the 
beautiful  Book  of  Eutli."  ^  The  narrative  constantly  runs  into 
the  form  of  dialogue.  Every  one  knows,  and  none  better  than 
those  who  have  read  Lord  Macaiday's  Historj'  with  care,  how 
dangerous  the  dramatic  talent  is  to  a  historian.  In  the  major- 
ity of  instances,  even  in  Lord  Macaulay's  own  History,  when 
we  have  had  occasion  to  test  the  accuracy  of  passages  which 
he  has  enclosed  between  inverted  commas,  as  being  the  very 

'  Old  Mditility,  chap.  vi.  ^  Minstrelsy,  App.  A. 


VISCOUNT   DUNDEE. 


117 


Lord  Macaulay, 
"  'I  would  rather,'  he  said,  'carry 
a  musket  in   a  respectable  regiment, 
than   be   captain   of  such   a   gang   qf 
thieves.'  " — Macaulay,  iii.  340. 


words  of  the  speaker,  we  have  found  them  incoirectly  quoted.^ 
It  seems  ia  the  highest  degree  improbable  that  an  illiterate 

^  The  following  are  a  few  instances,  taken  almost  at  random  : — 

OuiGINAL. 

"He  [i.e.,  Claverhouse]  told  Kep- 

poch,  in  the  presence  of  all  the  officers 

of  his  small  army,  that  he  would  much 

rather  choose  to  serve  as  a   common 

soldier    amongst     disciplined    troops, 

than  command  such  men  as  he,  M'ho 

seemed  to  make   it   his    business   to 

draw  the  odium  of  the  country  upon 

him.      .     .     .      He    begged   that   he 

would   immediately  begone  with   his 

men,  that  he  might  not  hereafter  have 

an    opportunity    of    affronting    the 

general  at  his  pleasure,  or  of  making 

him  and  the  better-disposed  troops  a 

cover  to  his  robberies." — Memoirs  of 

Locheil,  243. 
"  When  it   was    objected    that   he 

[i.  €.,  Glengarry]  would  not  be  able  to 

make  it  good,  since  his  followers  were 

not  near  etjual  to  Locheil's  in  numbers, 

he  answered  that   the  courage  of  his 

men  would  make  up   that   defect." — 

Memoirs  of  Locheil,  254. 

"The  Lords  replied,    'Nay,  wc  all 

well  remember  you  particularly  men- 
tioned the  flower -pots."'  —  Spratt's 
Narrative,  70. 

*'Lord  President. —  'Young,  thou 
art  the  strangest  creature  that  ever  I 
did  hear  of.  Dost  thou  think  we 
could  imagine  that  the  Bishop  of  Koch- 
pstcr  would  combine,' "  «&c. — Spratt's 
Narrative,  71. 

"I  left  him  praying  God  to  give 
him  grace  to  repent ;  and  only  add- 
ing that  else  he  was  more  in  danger  of 
his  own  damnation  than  I  of  his  accu- 
sation in  Parliament." — Ibid.,  second 
part,  p.  3. 


"When  he  was  reminded  that 
Locheil's  followers  were  in  number 
nearly  double  of  the  Gleugarrj'  men — 
'No  matter,'  he  cried,  'one  M 'Donald 
is  worth  two  Camerons. '  " — Macaulay, 
iii.  341. 

"Then  the  ichole  board  broke  forth, 
'  How  dare  you  sa)'  so  ?  We  all  re- 
member it.'" — Macaulay,  iv.  252. 

"  '  Man  /  ^  cried  Carmartficu, 
'  wouldst  thou  have  us  believe  that  the 
bishop  combined,'  "  &c. 


"  'Godgive  you  repentance, 'a/wwercfi 
tJic  bisho2>:  'for,  depend  upon  it,  you 
are  in  much  more  danger  of  being 
damned,  than  I  of  being  impeached.'  " 
— Macaulay,  iv.  253. 


The  actual  meaning  may  not  be  much  altered  in  these  examples,  but  it  is 
not  Claverhouse,  Glengarry,  Carmarthon,  or  Spratt  that  speaks,  but  Lord 
Macaulay,  and  a  slight  change  of  phrascolog}-  converts  a  dignified  remonstrance 
into  a  brutal  insult,  and  a  pious  exhortation  into  something  very  like  a  vulgar 
oath,  and  that,  too,  put  into  tin:  mouth  of  a  bishop  !  Lord  Macaulay's  inverted 
commas  are  always  to  bo  regarded  with  extreme  caution. 


118  Tin;  NKW  "  examp:n. 

woman,  sucli  as  Marion  Brown,  should  bo  able,  after  many 
years,  accurately  to  repeat  the  particular  words  which  passed 
during  such  a  scene  oi"  horror  as,  under  any  circumstances,  the 
death  of  John  Brown  must  have  been.  There  are,  besides, 
inconsistencies  and  mistakes  in  the  narrative  which  are  easily 
detected :  Thus,  the  neighbour  who  visits  the  widow  in  her 
atHiction,  is,  in  one  copy  of  the  '  Life,'  Elizabeth  Menzies,  and 
in  another,  Jean  Brown,  whilst  she  is  still  represented  as 
the  mother  of  Thomas  Weir  and  David  .Steel,  the  latter  of 
whom  is  said  to  have  been  "  suddenly  slwt  vjlun  taken."  We 
know,  however,  that  so  far  from  this  being  the  fact,  David 
Steel  was  neither  taken  nor  shot,  but  fell  beneath  the  broad- 
swords of  the  dragoons  in  a  fray,  during  which  they  attempted 
to  capture  him."  ^ 

We  may  therefore  fairly  take  Walker's  account  as  trust- 
worthy for  the  fact  that  John  Brown  fell  by  the  carbines  of 
the  soldiers  acting  under  the  orders  of  Claverhouse ;  but  for 
anything  beyond  that  fact,  his  testimony  must  be  received 
with  caution.  INIilitary  executions  are,  under  any  circum- 
stances, sufficiently  homble  :  they  are  peculiarly  so  when 
they  take  place  during  a  civil  war.  But,  before  we  come  to 
any  conclusion  upon  the  conduct  of  Claverhouse  in  tliis  in- 
stance, we  must  inquire,  first,  what  was  the  temper  of  the 
times,  and  what  manner  of  men  he  had  to  deal  with ;  and, 
secondly,  what  were  the  particular  circumstances  of  the  indi- 
vidual case.  With  regard  to  the  first,  we  will  content  our- 
selves with  three  instances,  and  they  shall  all  be  of  the  most 
notorious  kind,  and  proved  by  the  most  unexceptionable  evi- 
dence. 

On  the  3d  of  May  1679,  David  Hackston  of  Eathillet,  John 
Balfour  of  Kinloch,  and  seven  othei-s,  some  of  whom  were 
gentlemen  of  good  family,  set  forth,  mounted  and  armed,  for 
the  purpose  of  waylaying  and  murdering  one  Carmichael, 
sheriff-depute  of  the  county  of  Fife,-  who  was  obnoxious  to 
the  Covenanters,  and  M-liom  they  expected  to  find  hunting  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Scotstarbet.  Carmichael  was,  however, 
warned  of  his  danger  by  a  shepherd,  and  escaped.  After 
'  Crightou's  Mcmoii-s.  '  WoJrow,  ii.  21. 


VISCOUNT    DUNDEE.  119 

spending  the  greater  part  of  the  morning  in  a  fruitless  search, 
Itathillet  and  his  party  were  about  to  disperse,  when  a  boy 
came  up  and  informed  them  that  the  Archbishop's  coach  was 
in  a  neighbouring  village,  and  that  he  would  soon  pass  near 
the  spot  where  they  then  were.     Disappointed  of  their  in- 
tended victim,  chance  thus  threw  in  their  way  one  who  was 
even  more  the  object  of  their  hatred.     It  was  true  that  there 
was  no  recent  or  immediate  cause  for  exasperation  against 
Sharpe,  but  he  was  an  apostate, — he  had  abandoned  Presby- 
terianism  for  Episcopacy  seventeen  years  before, — he  was  an 
archbishop, — he  had  already  once  narrowly  escaped  the  pistol 
of  an  assassin,  the  shot  which  was  intended  for  him  having 
taken  effect  upon  his  friend,  the  Bishop  of  Orkney, — he  was 
known  to  have  shown  little  mercy  towards  those  who  had 
shown  none  to  him, — he  was  old,  unarmed,  utterly  defence- 
less, accompanied  by  no  one  but  his  daughter  and  some  do- 
mestic servants,  who  were  wholly  unable  to  offer  any  effectual 
resistance  to  nine  men  well  armed  and  mounted.     The  temp- 
tation was  too  strong  to  be  resisted.     Rathillet  and  his  party 
had  come  out  expressly  to  commit  murder.     Their  appetite  for 
crime  was   sharpened  by  disappointment,  when   the  victim 
they  had  least  hoped,  but  most  desired  to  immolate,  presented 
himself  ready  for  slaughter.     Their  resolution  was  immediately 
taken ;  the  pistols  M'hich  had  been  loaded,  and  the  swords 
which  had  been  sharpened  for  the  murder  of  Carmichael,  were 
turned  against  the  Archbishop,  and  they  spurred  their  horses 
to   their  utmost   speed   after  the   carriage.    The  coachman, 
alarmed  at  their  pursuit,  quickened  his  pace,  and  the  Arch- 
bishop, looking  out,  and  seeing  armed  men  approaching,  turned 
to  his  daughter  and  exclaimed,  "  Lord  have  mercy  upon  me, 
my  poor  child,  for  I  am  gone ! "     He  had  scarcely  spoken 
when  three  or  four  pistols  were  fired  at  the  coach,  and  the 
best  mounted  of  the  pursuers,  riding  up  to  the  postilion,  struck 
him  over  the  face  with  his  sword,  and  shot  and  hamstrung  his 
horse.     The  coach  being  thus  stopped,  the  assailants  again 
fired  into  it  upon  the  Archbishop  and  his  daughter,  and  this 
time  with   more  effect,  for  the  former  was  wounded.     The 
Archbishop  opened   the  door,  came  out  of  the  coach,  and 


1*J()  THK    NEW    "EXAMEN. 

bp^'ged  the  assailants  to  spare  his  life.  "There  is  no  mercy," 
thry  replied,  "for  a  Judas,  an  enemy  and  traitor  to  the  cause 
of  Christ."  lie  then  b(!g<,'ed  for  mercy  for  his  child.  The  de- 
tails of  the  butchery  which  followed  are  too  revolting  to  be 
repeated.^  One  of  the  murderers  even  exclaimed  in  horror 
to  his  comrades,  to  "  spare  those  gi'ey  hairs."  The  daughter 
threw  herself  before  her  father,  and  received  two  wounds  in  a 
fruitless  attempt  to  save  him.  When  their  bloody  work  was 
done,  the  murderers  remounted  their  horses,  and  left  her  on 
the  moor  with  the  mutilated  body  of  her  father.^ 

Such  was  the  murder  of  Archbishop  Sharpe.  It  is  recorded 
by  Shields,  who,  we  are  told  by  Wodrow,  was  "a  minister 
of  extraordinary  talents  and  usefulness,  well  seen  in  most 
branches  of  valuable  learning ;  of  a  most  quick  and  piercing 
wit,  full  of  zeal  and  public  spirit ;  of  shining  and  solid  piety  ; 
a  successful,  serious,  and  solid  preacher,  and  useful  minister  in 
the  Church,  moved  with  love  to  souls,  and  somewhat  of  the  old 
apostolic  sjnrit,"  ^  in  the  following  words :  "  That  truculent 
traitor,  James  Sharpe,  the  Archprelate,  &c.,  received  the  just 
demerit  of  his  perfidy,  apostasy,  sorceries,  villanies,  and  mur- 
ders— sharp  arrows  of  the  mighty  and  coals  of  juniper.  For, 
upon  the  3d  of  May  1679,  several  worthy  gentlemen,  ivith  some 
other  men  of  courage  and  zeal  for  the  cause  of  God  and  the  good 
of  the  country,  executed  righteous  judgment  upon  him  in  ^Magus 
Muir,  near  St  Andrews."  *     At  the  same  time,  Hackston  of 

'  James  Russell,  one  of  the  murderers,  gives  the  following  account  of  the 
final  act  of  the  tragedy:  "Falling  upon  his  knees,  he  said,  'For  God's  sake, 
save  my  life  ! '  his  daughter  falling  upon  her  knees,  begged  his  life  also.  .  .  . 
John  Balfour  stroke  him  on  the  face,  and  Andrew  Henderson  stroke  him 
on  the  hand,  and  cut  it,  and  John  Balfour  rode  him  down  ;  whereupon,  he 
lying  upon  his  face  as  if  he  had  been  dead,  and  James  Russell,  hearing  his 
daughter  say  to  Wallace  [the  Archbishop's  servant]  that  there  was  life  in  him 
yet,  in  the  time  James  was  disarming  the  rest  of  the  Bishop's  men,  went 
presently  to  him,  and  cast  off  his  hat,  for  it  would  not  cut  at  first,  and  hacked 
his  head  in  pieces.  Having  done  this,  his  daughter  came  to  him  and  cursed 
him,  and  called  him  a  bloody  murderer ;  and  James  answered,  they  were  not 
murderers,  for  they  were  sent  to  execute  God's  vengence  on  him." — James 
Russell's  Account  of  the  Murder  of  Archbishop  Sharpe  ;  Kirkton,  41S. 

-  See  State  Trials,  x.  791  ;  Wodrow  ;  Russell's  Narrative,  Kirkton  ;  Sir  Wm. 
Shjirp's  Letter,  Kirkton,  App. 

»  Wodrow,  iv.  233.  ■»  Hind  Let  Loose. 


VISCOUNT   DUNDEE.  '  121 

Eathillet  is  commemorated  as  a  "wortliy  gentleman  who  suf- 
fered at  Edinburgh,  on  the  30th  of  July  1680,"  one  of  a  "cloud 
of  witnesses  for  the  royal  prerogatives  of  Jesus  Christ !  "  Such 
is  the  language  in  which  the  fact  that  this  infamous  mur- 
derer was  hanged  is  recorded  by  the  historians  of  the  Covenant! 
Something  of  the  same  spirit  seems  still  to  survive.  A  recent 
historian  of  the  Church  of  Scotland  says,  after  giving  an 
account  of  the  Archbishop's  murder,  "  It  was  such  a  deed 
as  Greece  celebrated  with  loudest  praises  in  the  case  of  liar- 
modius  and  Aristogiton,  and  Eome  extolled  when  done  by 
Cassius  and  Brutus."^ 

The  skirmish  at  Dj-uniclog,  immortalised  in  '  Old  IMortality,' 
took  place  on  the  1st  of  June  1679,  within  a  month  after  the 
Archbishop's  murder.  The  insurgents  were  commanded  by 
Robert  Hamilton,  a  near  connection  and  pupil  of  Bishop  Bur- 
net. Following  the  example  of  the  Covenanters  at  Tipper- 
muir,  whose  watchword  was  "  Jesus,  and  no  quarter ! "  he  gave, 
as  he  himself  informs  us,  strict  orders  that  "  no  quarter  should 
be  given."  ^  These  orders  were,  however,  disobeyed  during 
his  absence,  and  five  prisoners  were  spared.  Hamilton,  return- 
ing from  the  pursuit  of  Claverhouse,  found  his  followers  de- 
bating whether  mercy  should  be  shown  to  a  sixth,  when  he 
put  an  end  to  the  argument  by  slaughtering  the  unhappy 
prisoner  in  cold  blood,  with  his  own  hand.  Seven  years  after- 
wards, we  find  him  exulting  in  the  act.  "  None  could  blame 
me,"  he  says,  "  to  decide  the  controversy,  and  I  bless  the  Lord  for 
it  to  this  day!"  This  was  the  man  whom  Lord  Macaulay  has 
truly  designated  as  "the  oracle  of  the  extreme  Covenanters," 
and  justly  denounced  as  a  "  bloodthirsty  ruffian."  That  his 
conduct  met  with  the  sympathy  and  approval  of  his  followers, 
is  shown  by  the  fact  that  we  find  him  still  in  command  of  the 
insurgent  forces  under  the  title  of  General  Hamilton,  at  the 
battle  of  Bothwoll  Brig,  in  conjunction  with  Hackston  of 
liathillet,  the  murderer  of  the  Archbishop.  The  banner  which 
floated  over  their  heads  is  still  in  existence,^  and,  after  the 

^  Hetherington's  History  of  the  rinm  h  of  Scotland,  94,  as  toSliarpc'sniuuIcr. 
'^  Hamilton's  I.cttcr  to  the  Sectaries,  Dec.  7,  1685. 
3  Nap.,  Memoirs  of  Dundee,  2'28. 


1L>'J  TIFK    NKW    "KXAMKN. 

desecrated  motto,  "For  Christ  aiid  His  Truths!"  bears,  in 
l)lo()(l-r('(l  letters,  the  words,  "  No  Quarter  for  tlie  Active 
Eucniics  of  the  Covenant."  lleckoninf^  upon  certain  victory, 
these  champions  of  the  Prince  of  Peace  had  erected  upon  the 
battle-field  a  hi^di  gallows,  and  ])repared  a  cart-load  of  new 
ropes,  in  order  that  there  might  be  no  more  such  "  stoppings 
aside  "  as  had  occurred  when  the  five  prisoners  were  spared  at 
Prumclog.^  It  is  somewhat  inconsistent  with  the  supposed 
ferocity  of  the  commanders  of  the  royalist  troops  that  these 
preparations  were  not  turned  against  the  insurgents  upon  their 
defeat." 

Such  were  the  leaders  of  the  Covenanters — men  of  rank, 
station,  and  education.  As  may  well  be  supposed,  their  ex- 
ample was  not  thrown  away  upon  their  more  humble  and 
ignorant  followers.  Of  the  numberless  outrages  committed  by 
them,  we  will  select  one  only,  and  narrate  the  facts  as  they 
came  from  the  mouths  of  the  perpetrators  of  the  crime. 

Peter  Peirson,  the  curate  of  Carsphairn,  was  a  bold  and 
determined  man,  and  had  the  courage  to  reside  alone,  without 
even  a  servant,  in  the  solitary  manse  belonging  to  that  parish. 
His  offence  consisted  in  being  suspected  of  favouring  "  Popery, 
Papists,  and  purgatory,"  and  in  having  been  heard  to  declare 
that  "  he  feared  none  of  the  Whigs,  nor  anything  else,  but  rats 
and  mice."  On  this  provocation,  James  M'Michael  and  three 
others,  one  night  in  the  middle  of  November  168-4,  went  to 
the  manse,  knocked  at  the  door,  and  upon  its  being  opened  by 
Mr  Peirson,  immediately  shot  him  dead  on  his  OAvn  threshold.^ 

Instances  of  the  most  cold  -  l)looded  murder  might  be 
multiplied  by  hundreds.*      But  we  must  now  consider  the 

'  Tlic  mercy  shown  to  tlic  five  prisoners  at  Druniclog  was  a  continual  source 
of  self-reproach  to  the  Covenanters,  who  lamented  that,  "so  they  had  brought 
themselves  under  that  curse,  of  doing  the  work  of  the  Lord  deceitfully,  by 
withholding  the  sword  from  shedding  of  their  blood." — See  the  'Brief  Rehearsal 
of  our  Defections,'  by  the  famous  Mr  Walter  Smith,  who  got  the  crown  of  mar- 
tyrdom, July  27,  1681;  Bio.  Pres.,  vol.  ii. 

-  Crighton's  Memoirs.  ^  Wodrow,  ii.  467. 

*  Sir  Walter  Scott,  writing  to  Southey,  says  :  "  I  admit  that  he  [Claver- 
honse]  was  taut  soit  pcu  savage,  but  he  was  a  noble  savage  ;  and  the  beastly 
Covenanters  against  whonx  ho  acted  hardly  had  an  claim  to  be  called  men, 
unless  what  was  founded  upon  their  walking  upon  tlieir  hind  feet.     You  can 


VISCOUNT    DUNDEE.  123 

second  question,  and  inquire,  what  were  the  circumstances, 
and  what  the  conduct,  of  Claverhouse  in  the  particular  case  of 
John  Brown.  Lord  Macaulay's  assertion  that  he  was  sen- 
tenced to  death  because  he  was  "  convicted  of  nonconformity  " 
is  pure  invention.  Neither  Wodrow  nor  Walker  assign  any 
cause;  the  former,  indeed,  expressly  says, —  "Wlielher  he 
[Claverhouse]  liad  got  any  information  of  John's  piety  and 
nonconformity,  /  cannot  tell ; "  and  we  shall  presently  see 
that  Lord  Macaulay  might  just  as  truly  have  said  that  John 
Thurtel  was  hanged  for  reading  '  Bell's  Life  in  London.' 

John  Brown  was  a  "  fugitated  rebel."  His  name  appears  a 
year  before  in  a  list  appended  to  a  proclamation  of  those  who 
had  been  cited  as  rebels  in  arms,  or  rather  of  rebels  who  had 
not  appeared.^  Sir  Walter  Scott  says,  with  perfect  truth, 
"  While  we  read  this  dismal  story,  we  must  remember  Brown's 
situation  was  that  of  an  avowed  and  deternmied  rebel,  liable  as 
such  to  military  cxemttion."  What  then  does  Lord  IMacaulay 
mean  by  asserting  -that  "  he  was  blameless  in  life,  and  so 
peaceable  that  the  tyrants  could  find  no  offence  in  him, 
except  that  he  absented  himself  from  the  public  worship  of 
the  Episcopalians  "  ?  That  he  was  blameless  and  peaceable 
in  the  eyes  of  those  who  regarded  Hackston  of  Bathillet  as 
"  one  of  Sion's  precious  mourners  and  faithful  witnesses  of 
Christ,  a  valiant  and  much-honoured  gentleman," — who  shouted 
"  Jesus,  and  no  quarter  !  "  at  Tippermuir — who  felt  that  they 
had  forfeited  the  favour  of  God  because  they  had  abstained 
from  "  dashing  the  brains  of  the  brats  of  Babel  against  the 
stones  "  at  Drumclog — who  fought  under  the  "  bluidy  banner," 
and  prepared  the  gibbet  and  the  new  ropes  at  Bothwell  Brig, 
— we  can  readily  understand.  But  that  any  historian  should 
be  found,  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century,  dcli]:)erately 
to  adopt  such  a  statement,  we  confess,  fills  us  with  surprise. 

Yet  such,  unhappily,  is  the  fact.  Year  after  year,  and 
edition  after  edition.  Lord  jMaeaulay  has  given  the  trash  of 

lianlly  cont'eivc  the  perfidy,  cnielty,  and  stupidity  of  these  people,  according 
to  tlio  accounts  they  have  thonisclves  preserved." — Scott  to  Southcy ;  Lockhart's 
Life  of  Scott,  ii.  135, 

'  Wodrow,  Apii.,  ii.  110,  The  entry  is  as  follows:  "  Muirkirl;  John 
Brown  of  I'l iestlield,  for  Jksd." 


1LM  THK    NKVV    "KXAMEN. 

AVodrow  to  llic  jtulilic,  backed  by  his  own  high  authority.  It 
was  in  vain  that  rrofessor  Aytoiiii  laid  hoforo  him  the 
evidence  which  proved,  in  the  most  conclusive  manner,  that 
Wodrow  was  contradicted  by  contemporary  authorities — that 
even  by  his  own  party  liis  '  History '  was  denounced  as  a  col- 
lection of  "  lies  and  groundless  stories."  It  was  in  vain  tliat 
his  attention  was  directed  to  the  fact  that  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
though  himself  adopting  a  view  by  no  means  favourable  of 
the  character  of  Glaverhouse,  rejected  the  story  told  by 
Wodrow,  and  adopted  that  told  by  Walker,  and  had  distinctly 
pointed  out  the  fact  that  John  Brown  was  an  avowed  rebel, 
amenable  to  the  law,  such  as  it  then  was  ;  that  the  assertion 
that  he  was  "  convicted  of  nonconformity,"  and  had  "  com- 
mitted no  oflence  except  that  he  absented  himself  from  the 
public  worship  of  the  Episcopalians,"  was  not  only  unsup- 
ported by  any  evidence  whatever,  but  betrayed  a  want  of 
knowledge  of  the  state  of  Scotland  at  the  time.  Still  the 
story  of  the  Christian  Carrier  appeared  over  and  over  again 
without  even  a  note  or  a  hint  from  which  the  reader  could  sur- 
mise that  its  authenticity  had  ever  been  even  questioned.  It 
appeared  as  the  chief  evidence  on  which  Lord  Macaulay 
relied  for  painting  Claverhouse  with  the  features  of  a  fiend, 
and  bestowing  upon  him  the  nickname  of  "  The  Chief  of 
Tophet ! " 

So  the  matter  stood  at  the  time  of  the  appearance  of  the 
last  edition  of  Lord  Macaulay's  History.  Within  the  last 
year,  however,  a  valuable  addition  has  been  made  to  the 
materials  previously  before  the  world  for  the  histoiy  of  that 
period  of  Scottish  annals.  The  Queensberry  Papers,  preserved 
among  the  archives  of  the  Buccleuch  famOy,  have  been 
examined,  and  amongst  the  extracts  from  those  valuable 
documents  which  have  been  recently  published  by  Mr  Mark 
Napier,  in  his  '  Memoirs  of  Dundee,'  is  the  original  despatch 
which  Claverhouse  sent  to  the  Duke  of  Queensberry,  then  the 
High  Treasurer  of  Scotland  and  head  of  the  Government,  on 
the  3d  of  May  1685,  giving  an  account  of  the  execution  of 
John  Brown  only  two  days  after  the  event.  One  might 
almost  fancy  that  the  spirit  of  the  hero  had  been  awakened 


VISCOUNT   DUNDEE.  125 

from  its  slumbers  by  tlie  sound  of  the  only  voice  whose  slan- 
ders he  deigned  to  answer : — 

"  May  it  please  your  Grace, 
"  On  Friday  last,  among  the  hills  betwixt  Douglas  and  the 
Ploughlands,  we  pursued  two  fellows  a  great  way  through  the 
mosses,  and  in  the  end  seized  them.     They  had  no  arms  about 
them,  and  denied  they  had  any.      But  being  asked  if  they 
would  take  the  abjuration,  the  eldest  of  the  tiro,  called  John 
Broiun,  refused  it;  nor  luoidd  he  swear  not  to  rise  in  arms 
against  the  King,  but  said  he  knew  no  king.    Upon  which,  and 
there  being  found  hdlefs  and  match  in  his  house,  and  treason- 
able papei's,  I  caused  shoot  him  dead  ;  which  he  suffered  very 
unconcernedly.     The  other,  a  young  fellow  and  his  nephew, 
called  John  Brownen,  offered  to  take  the  oath  ;  but  would  not 
swear  that  he  had  not  been  at  Newmills  in  arms,  at  rescuing 
the  prisoners.     So  I  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  him  ;  I 
was  convinced  that  he  was  guilty,  but  saw  not  how  to  proceed 
against  him.     Wherefore,  after  he  had  said  his  prayers,  and 
carabines  presented  to  shoot  him,  I  offered  to  him,  that  if  he 
would  make  an  ingenuous  confession,  and  make  a  discovery 
that  might  be  of  any  importance  for  the  King's  service,  I 
should  delay  putting  him  to  death,  and  plead  for  him.     Upon 
which  he  confessed  that  he  was  at  that  attack  of  Newmills, 
and  that  he  had  come  straight  to  this  house  of  his  uncle's  on 
Sunday  morning.     In  the  time  he  was  making  this  confession 
the  soldiers  found  out  a  house  in  the  hill,  binder  ground,  that 
could  hold  a  dozen  of  men,  and  there  were  swords  and  jnstols  in 
it :  and  this  fellow  declared  that  they  belonged  to  his  iLuele,  and 
that  he  had  lurked  in  that  place  ever  since  Bothwell,  where  he 
luas  in  arms.     He  confessed  that  he  had  a  hall)ert,  and  ti^ld 
who  gave  it  him  about  a  month  ago,  and  we  have  the  fellow 
prisoner.     ...     I  have  acquitted  myself  when  I  have  told 
your  Grace  the  case.     He  has  been  but  a  month  or  two  with 
his  halbert ;  and  if  your  Grace  thinks  he  deserves  no  mercy, 
justice  will  pass  on  him  :  for  I,  having  no  commission  of  justi- 
ciary myself,  have  delivered  him  up  to  the  Lieutenant-General, 
to  be  disposed  of  as  he  pleases. 


12(1  TIIK    Ni:W    "  EXAMEN." 

"  I  am,  my  Lord,  your  Grace's  most  humble  servant, 

"J.  Gkaiiame."' 

It  must  not  be  supposed  tliat  the  Abjuration  Oatli  here 
referred  to  had  anything  whatever  to  do  with  the  religious 
lont'ts  of  the  person  to  whom  it  was  administered.  As  mis- 
conception upon  this  point  is  not  uncommon,  and  as  that  mis- 
conception may  possibly  have  led  to  Lord  MacaiUay's  assertion 
that  Brown  was  "  convicted  of  nonconformity,"  it  may  be  well 
to  examine  what  the  Oath  of  Abjuration  was,  and  to  inquire 
into  its  history. 

On  the  28th  of  October  1684,  a  declaration  was  published 
by  the  Covenanters,  and  affixed  very  generally  upon  the 
church -doors  and  other  public  places,  "disowning  the 
authority  of  Chas.  Stuart,  and  all  authority  depending  upon 
him  ;  ^  declaring  war  against  him  and  liis  accomplices,  such 
as  lay  out  themselves  to  promote  his  wicked  and  hellish 
designs "  —  denouncing  all  bloody  counsellors,  justiciaries, 
generals,  captains,  all  in  civil  or  military  power,  bloody 
militiamen,  malicious  troopers,  soldiers,  and  dragoons,  viperous 
and  malicious  bishops  and  curates,  and  all  witnesses  who 
should  appear  in  any  courts,  as  enemies  to  God,  to  be 
punished  as  such.  This  was  met  by  the  Government  by 
a  proclamation  denouncing  the  penalty  of  death  against 
all  who  should  not  renounce  the  declaration,  and  pre- 
scribing the  following  form  of  oath  to  be  taken  by  all 
persons  who  should  be  required  to  do  so  by  any  lawful 
authority  : — 

"  I,  A.  B.,  do  hereby  abhor,  renounce,  and  disown,  in  the 
presence  of  the  Almighty  God,  the  pretended  declaration  of 
war  lately  affixed  at  several  parish  churches,  in  so  far  as  it 
declares  a  war  against  his  sacred  Majesty,  and  asserts  that  it 
is  lawful  to  kill  such  as  serve  his  Majesty,  in  Church,  State, 
army,  or  country."  ^ 

This  oath  being  taken,  a  certificate  was  to  be  delivered  to 

>  Napier's  Memoirs  of  Dundee,  141.  ^  Wodrow,  ii.,  App.,  137. 

*  Wodrow,  ii.,  App.,  158.  See  also  the  Life  and  Deatli  of  Mr  James 
Uenwit'k,  68  ;  Bio.  Pres.,  ii. 


VISCOUNT    DUNDEE.  127 

the  party  taking  it,  which  \vas  to  operate  as  a  free  pass  and 
protection.  Of  the  treasonable  nature  of  the  declaration  it 
is  impossible  to  entertain  a  doubt,  and  the  refusal  to  take  the 
Oath  of  Abjuration  was,  in  fact,  precisely  equivalent  to  a  plea 
of  guilty  to  an  indictment  for  high  treason.  The  proceeding, 
it  is  true,  was  summary  and  liable  to  abuse.  The  law  was 
harsh ;  but  the  country  was  in  open  rebellion  ;  and  Claver- 
house  was  no  more  censurable  for  carrying  the  laws  into 
execution,  than  a  judge  would  be  who  should  sentence  to 
death  a  person  who  pleaded  guilty  at  the  bar  of  the  Old 
Bailey.  Here,  then,  we  arrive  at  last  at  the  true  history  of 
John  Brown,  the  Christian  Carrier — the  man  represented  by 
Lord  Macaulay  as  of  "  singular  piety,  versed  in  divine  things, 
blameless  in  life,  and  so  peaceable  that  even  the  tyrants  could 
find  no  fault  with  him,  except  that  he  absented  himself  from 
the  public  worship  of  the  Episcopalians."  His  peaceableness 
was  shown  by  his  being  in  arms  at  Bothwell ;  his  piety  by 
shouting,  "No  quarter  for  the  enemies  of  the  Covenant !" — 
by  rallying  round  the  gibbet  and  the  ropes  prepared  for  the 
"  bloody  militiamen  and  malignant  troopers,"  over  whom  the 
Lord  would  have  given  His  chosen  people  an  easy  victory, 
but  for  their  "  stepping  aside  "  in  sparing  the  five  "  brats  of 
Babel "  at  Drumclog — and  by  providing  a  secure  hiding-place 
for  men  and  arms,  to  be  used  for  future  slaughter. 

Eebellion  is  a  dangerous  and  desperate  game,  which,  as  has 
often  been  remarked,  requires  success  to  justify  it. 

The  Christian  Carrier  played  and  lost.  If  he  had  won,  he 
and  his  comrades  would  have  hanged  Claverhouse  and  his 
dragoons  in  cold  blood,  and  gloried  in  the  act ;  and  it  is  rather 
unfair  to  canonise  him  because  he  met  a  more  merciful  death 
at  the  hands  of  those  for  whom  he  had  prepared  a  gibbet  and 
a  halter. 

It  may  perhaps  be  urged  that  the  despatch  of  Claverhouse 
does  not  in  terms  negative  the  account  given  by  Walker  and 
Wodrow  of  the  conversation  between  Claverhouse  and  the 
widow  of  John  Brown.  This  is  true ;  but  it  appears  highly 
improbable  that  Claverhouse  should  have  detailed  with  so 
much   particularity  what  look  place,   and  have  noticed  the 


128  TIIIO    NKW    "EXAMEN." 

uiu:onccrnc(l  manner  in  wliicli  iJrown  met  his  fate,  and  yet 
have  omitted  all  notice  of  so  remarkable  a  scene,  if  it  liad,  in 
fact,  taken  place.  It  is  impossible  that  he  could  have  passed 
over  without  observation  any  symptoms  of  mutiny,  or  even 
of  unwillingness  to  execute  his  orders,  on  the  part  of  his 
troops.  Here,  then,  is  a  distinct  contradiction  to  the  most 
important  part  of  Wodrow's  story ;  and  tlie  total  suppression 
by  both  Wodrow  and  Walker  of  all  that  relates  to  John 
Brownen,  the  nephew,  to  the  discovery  of  the  "  bullets,  match, 
and  treasonable  papers"  in  tlie  house  of  John  Jjrown,  and  of 
the  place  of  concealment  and  arms  in  the  "  house  in  the  hill, 
under  ground,"  throws  the  greatest  possible  suspicion  on  the 
rest  of  both  narratives.  The  simple  account  given  by  Claver- 
house,  therefore,  disposes  at  once  of  the  absurd  story  of  the 
drag(5ons  having  refused  to  obey  orders,  and  renders  the 
poetical  and  fanciful  additions  of  both  those  very  apocryphal 
writers,  to  say  the  least,  highly  improbable.  The  death  of 
John  Brown  was  simply  a  military  execution.  He  might  be 
sincere  and  honest — so  was  Tliistlewood ;  he  might  be  bold, 
and  meet  death  unconcernedly — so  did  Brunt.  John  Brown 
was  a  fanatic  of  the  same  class.  His  courage  was  upheld  l)y 
religious  and  political  enthusiasm.  He  was  one  of  thousands 
who  in  those  days  were  equally  prepared  to  commit  the  most 
savage  atrocities  or  to  endure  the  most  terrible  extremities, 
secure,  as  they  thought,  of  the  approbation  of  the  God  of  mercy, 
of  the  crown  of  martyrdom,  and  the  joys  of  Paradise. 

Whether  the  oppressions  of  the  Government  justified  the 
rebellion  of  the  Covenanters,  or  whether  the  outrages  com- 
mitted by  the  Covenanters  justified  the  severities  of  the 
Government,  are  matters  which  we  are  not  now  called  upon 
to  discuss.  They  in  no  degi'ee  affect  the  question  as  regards 
the  character  of  Claverhouse.  It  would  be  as  reasonable  to 
hold  Sir  John  Moore  or  Massena  answerable  for  the  justice 
and  morality  of  their  respective  sides  in  the  war  of  the  Penin- 
sula, as  to  hold  Claverhouse  responsible  for  the  policy  of  the 
Government  he  served. 

We  have  bestowed  so  much  space  upon  an  examination  of 
this  particular  charge,  that  we  have  none  left  to  follow  Clavcr- 


VISCOUNT   DUNDEE.  129 

house  through  his  gallant  career  to  its  brilliant  close.  "We 
must  content  ourselves  with  one  or  two  instances  of  his  con- 
duct during  his  command  in  the  west  which  seem  to  us 
wholly  to  disprove  the  view  of  his  character  taken  by  Lord 
Macaulay,  and  to  remove  the  dark  stains  which  Sir  Walter 
Scott  supposed  to  have  existed. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  year  1679,  Claverhouse  was  sta- 
tioned at  Dumfries.  Not  Wellington  himself  could  be  more 
sedulous  in  suppressing  outrage  and  maintaining  discipline 
amongst  his  troops  than  we  find  this  "  chief  of  Tophet "  to 
have  been. 

On  the  6th  of  January  he  thus  writes  to  the  commander-in- 
chief  : — 

"  On  Saturday  night  when  I  came  back  here,  the  sergeant 
who  commands  the  dragoons  in  the  castle  came  to  me ;  and 
while  he  was  here,  they  came  and  told  me  there  was  a  horse 
killed  just  by  upon  tlie  street,  by  a  shot  from  the  castle.  I 
went  immediately  and  examined  the  guard,  who  denied  point- 
blank  that  there  had  been  any  shot  from  thence.  I  went  and 
heard  the  bailie  take  depositions  of  men  that  were  looking 
on,  who  declared  upon  oath  that  they  saw  the  shot  from  the 
guard-hall,  and  the  horse  immediately  fall.  I  caused  also 
searcli  for  the  bullet  in  the  liorse's  head,  which  was  found  to 
be  of  their  calibre.  After  that  I  found  it  so  clear,  I  caused 
seize  upon  him  who  was  ordered  by  the  sergeant  in  his 
absence  to  command  the  guard,  and  keep  him  prisoner  till  he 
iiiid  out  the  man,  which  I  suppose  will  be  found  himself.  His 
name  is  James  Ramsay,  an  Angus  man,  who  has  formerly  been 
a  lieutenant  of  horse,  as  I  am  informed.  It  is  an  ugly  busi- 
ness ;  for,  besides  the  wrong  the  poor  man  has  got  in  losing 
his  horse,  it  is  extremely  against  military  discipline  to  fire 
out  of  a  guard.  I  have  appointed  tlic  poor  man  to  he  here  to- 
morrow, and  bring  with  him  some  Tieighhours  to  declare  the 
worth  of  the  horse;  and  have  assured,  him  to  safis/i/  him,  if 
tlie  cap)tain,  ivho  is  to  he  here  also  to-morrow,  refuse  to  do  it."  ^ 

Again,  he  hears  complaints  that,  before  his  command  had 
commenced,  some  of  the  dragoons  had  taken  free  quarters  in 

'   Napier's  Mcmoii-s  of  Dundee. 
I 


VM)  TMK    Ni;\V    "  KXAMEN. 

tli(!  iiciglibourhood  of  Moffat ;  this,  he  remarks,  was  no  charge 
against  liini,  as  the  facts  had  occurred  before  he  came  into 
that  i)art  of  tlic  country,  but  he  immediately  institutes  an 
inquiry.  "  I  begged  them,"  he  says,  "  to  forbear  till  the  captain 
and  1  should  come  there,  when  tliey  should  he  redressed  in  every- 
thing. Your  lordship  will  be  pleased  not  to  take  any  notice 
of  this  till  I  have  informed  myself  upon  the  place."  ^  It  is  a 
curious  illustration  of  the  perversion  of  language  and  of  di- 
versity of  character,  that  at  the  very  time  when  that  "  worthy 
gentleman,"  Hackston  of  llathillet,  inspired  by  "  zeal  for  the 
cause  of  God,"  was  butchering  the  Archbishop  on  Magus 
INIuir,  "  Bloody  Claver'se "  was  delaying  the  march  of  his 
prisoners  in  consideration  of  the  illness  of  one  of  them,  a 
conventicle  preacher  of  the  name  of  Irwin.  He  thus  writes 
to  the  commander-in-chief  on  the  21st  April  1679  :  "  I  was 
going  to  have  sent  in  the  other  prisoners,  but  amongst  them 
there  is  one  Mr  Francis  Irwin,  an  old  infirm  man,  who  is 
extremely  troubled  with  the  gravel,  so  that  I  will  be  forced  to 
delay  for  five  or  six  days."  He  again  apologises  for  the  delay 
on  the  same  ground  on  the  6th  of  May,  three  days  after  the 
murder  of  the  Archbishop.  This  man,  so  considerate  of  the 
sufferings  of  his  prisoners,  Lord  IMacaulay  would  fain  have  his 
readers  believe  to  have  been  a  "  chief  of  Tophet,  of  violent 
temper,  and  of  obdurate  luart!'  The  kindliness  of  his  disposi- 
tion breaks  out  repeatedly  in  his  correspondence.  With  the 
murder  of  Magus  JNIuir,  the  slaughter  of  Drumclog,  and  the 
high  gallows  and  new  ropes  of  BothweU  fresh  in  his  memory, 
he  can  yet  write, — "  I  am  as  sorry  to  see  a  man  die,  even  a 
Whig,  as  any  of  themselves ;  but  when  one  dies  justly,  and 
for  his  own  faidts,  and  may  save  a  hundred  to  fall  in  the  like, 
I  have  'no  scruple." 

Again,  in  1682,  he  writes : — 

"  The  first  thing  I  mind  to  do,  is  to  fall  to  work  with  all 
that  have  been  in  the  rebellion,  or  accessory  thereto  by  giving 
men,  money,  or  arms ;  and  next,  resetters  ;  and  after  that, 
field  conventicles.  For  what  remains  of  the  laws  against  the 
fanatics,  /  will  threaten  much,  hut  forbear  severe  execution  for  a 

*  Napier,  122. 


VISCOUNT   DUNDEE.  131 

while ;  for  fear  people  should  grow  desperate,  and  increase  too 
much  the  number  of  our  enemies." 

On  the  1st  of  March  1682,  commenting  upon  what  was 
occurring  in  other  parts  of  the  country,  he  says  : — 

"  The  way  that  1  see  taken  in  other  places  is  to  put  laws 
severely  against  great  and  small  in  execution,  which  is  very 
just ;  hut  ivhat  effects  does  that  produce  hut  to  exasperate  and 
alienate  the  hearts  of  the  ivhole  p)cople  ?  For  it  renders  three 
desperate  where  it  gains  one ;  and  your  lordship  knows  that 
in  the  greatest  crimes  it  is  thought  wisest  to  pardon  the  mul- 
titude and  punish  the  ringleaders,  where  the  number  of  the 
guilty  is  great,  as  in  this  case  of  whole  countries.  Wherefore 
I  have  taken  another  course  here."  ^ 

Writing  at  the  end  of  the  same  year,  and  giving  an  account 
of  his  stewardship  to  the  Privy  Council,  he  thus  reports  the 
success  of  his  just  and  merciful  experiment  : — 

"  It  may  now  be  said  that  Galloway  is  not  only  as  peace- 
able but  as  regular  as  any  part  of  the  country  on  this  side  Tay. 
And  the  rebels  are  reduced  without  Hood,  and  the  country 
brought  to  obedience  and  conformity  to  the  Church  govern- 
ment unthoiU  severity  or  extortion;  few  heritors  being  fined, 
and  that  but  gently,  and  under  that  none  is  or  are  to  be  lined 
but  two  or  three  in  a  parish  ;  and  the  authority  of  the  Church 
is  restored  in  that  country,  and  the  ministers  in  safety.  If 
there  were  bonds  once  taken  of  them  for  regularity  hereafter, 
and  some  few  were  put  in  garrison,  which  may  all  be  done  in 
a  few  months,  that  country  may  be  secure  a  long  time  both  to 
King  and  Church."  - 

The  biographer  of  Locheil  has  a  passage  which  it  would 
have  been  well  if  Lord  Macaulay  had  considered  before  hazard- 
ing the  charge  of  profanity  against  Claverhouse.  Speaking  of 
tbe  high  sense  of  honour  and  fidelity  to  liis  word  by  which 
Dundee  was  distinguished,  he  says — 

"  That  it  proceeded  from  a  principle  of  religion,  whereof  he 

was  strictly  observant ;  for  besides  family  worshij),  performed 

regularly  evening  and  morning  in  his  house,  he  retired  to  his 

closet  at  certain  hours,  and  employed  himself  in  that  duty. 

'  NapuT,  130.  -  Il.id.,  13G. 


132  THK    NKW    "EXAMEN." 

This  I  allinn  upon  the  testimony  of  several  that  lived  in  liis 
neij^hbourhood  in  Edinburgh,  where  his  office  of  privy  coun- 
cillor often  obliged  him  to  be ;  and  particularly  from  a 
Prt'sbyterian  laily,  who  lived  long  in  the  story  or  house  im- 
mediately below  his  lordship's,  and  who  was  otherways  so 
rigid  in  her  opinions,  that  she  could  not  believe  a  good  thing 
of  any  person  of  his  persuasion  till  his  conduct  rectified  her 
mistake.  .  .  .  His  lordship  continued  the  same  course  in 
the  army ;  and  though  somewhat  warai  upon  occasions  in  his 
temper,  yet  he  never  was  heard  to  swear."  ^ 

The  same  writer  thus  sums  up  the  character  of  Dundee  : — 

"  He  seemed  formed  by  heaven  for  great  undertakings,  and 
was,  in  an  eminent  degree,  possessed  of  all  those  qualities  that 
accomplish  the  gentleman,  the  statesman,  and  the  soldier. 
He  was,  in  his  private  life,  rather  parsimonious 
than  profuse,  and  observed  an  exact  economy  in  his  family. 
But  in  the  King's  service  he  was  liberal  and  generous  to  eveiy 
person  but  himself,  and  freely  bestowed  his  own  money  in 
buying  provisions  to  his  array  :  and  to  sum  up  his  character 
in  two  words,  he  was  a  good  Christian,  an  indulgent  husband, 
an  accomplislicd  gentleman,  an  honest  statesman,  and  a  brave 
soldier."  ^ 

Such  is  the  portrait  of  Dundee,  painted  by  the  grandson 
and  biographer  of  the  heroic  Cameron  of  Locheil,  a  ^v^iter  con- 
temporary with  Wodrow,3  and  to  whom  Lord  Macaulay  makes 
frequent  reference.  How  happens  it  that  he  has  overlooked 
the  testimony  of  what  he  himself  justly  calls  these  "singu- 
larly interesting  memoirs?"* 

"We  are  compelled,  by  want  of  further  space,  to  terminate 
our  remarks.  We  quit  the  subject  with  regret.  The  character 
of  Dundee  is  one  over  which  we  would  fain  linger. 

1  Memoirs  of  Locheil,  278,  27^.  It  is  a  remarkable  confirmation  of  this 
somewhat  peculiar  characteristic  of  Claverhouse,  that  Crookshank,  who  reconis 
the  oaths  of  Westerraw,  Lagg,  and  others,  with  peculiar  gusto,  never,  as  far  as 
wc  have  observed,  attributes  such  expressions  to  Claverhouse, 

-  Memoirs  of  Locheil,  273-279. 

'  Wodrow's  History  was  published  in  1722.  The  ileraoirs  of  Locheil  were 
written  sume  time  before  1737.  The  exact  date  cannot  be  ascertained. — See 
Preface,  p.  xlix. 

*  Mac,  iii.  321. 


VISCOUNT   DUNDEE.  133 

In  days  notorious  for  profligacy  there  was  no  stain  on  liis 
domestic  morality — in  an  age  infamous  for  the  almost  uni- 
versal treachery  of  its  public  men,  his  fidelity  was  pure  and 
inviolate.  His  worst  enemies  have  never  denied  him  the 
possession  of  the  most  undaunted  courage  and  military  genius 
of  the  highest  order.  He  was  generous,  brave,  and  gentle, — 
a  cavalier  "  sans  peur  et  sans  reproche ; "  and  so  long  as  the 
summer  sun  shall  pour  his  evening  ray  through  the  dancing 
birch-trees  and  thick  copsewood  down  to  those  dark  pools 
where  the  clear  brown  waters  of  the  Garry  whirl  in  deep 
eddies  round  the  footstool  of  Ben  Vrackie,  will  every  noble 
heart  swell  at  the  recollection  of  him  whose  spirit  fled,  as 
the  fading  beam  shone  on  the  last  victory  of  "  Ian  dhu  nan 
Cath," — of  him  who  died  the  death  which  the  God  of  Battles 
reserves  for  His  best  and  most  favoured  sons,  alike  on  sea 
or  mountain,  on  the  blue  wave  of  Trafalgar  or  the  purple 
heather  of  Killiecraukie, 


liU 


V. 


WILLIAM     PENN. 

"  Rival  nations  and  hostile  sects  have  agreed  in  canonising 
him — England  is  proud  of  his  name.  A  great  commonwealth 
beyond  the  Atlantic  regards  him  with  a  reverence  similar  to 
that  which  the  Athenians  felt  for  Theseus,  and  the  Romans  for 
Quirinus,  The  respectable  society  of  which  he  was  a  member 
honours  him  as  an  apostle.  By  pious  men  of  other  persua- 
sions he  is  generally  regarded  as  a  bright  pattern  of  Christian 
virtue.  Meanwhile  admirers  of  a  very  different  sort  have 
sounded  his  praises.  The  French  philosophers  of  the  eighteenth 
century  pardoned  what  they  regarded  as  his  superstitious  fan- 
cies, in  consideration  of  his  contempt  for  priests,  and  of  his 
cosmopolitan  benevolence,  impartially  extended  to  all  races 
and  all  creeds.  His  name  has  thus  become,  throughout  all 
civilised  countries,  a  synonym  for  probity  and  philanthropy." 

Such  is  tlie  verdict  of  posterity  upon  the  character  of 
William  Penn,  recorded  in  the  glowing  words  of  Lord  Mac- 
aulay.^  Such  is  the  judgment  which  Lord  IMacaulay  seeks 
to  reverse ; — to  show  instead  that  this  same  William  Penn 
prostituted  himself  to  the  meanest  wishes  of  a  cruel  and  pro- 
fligate court  '-—gloated  with  delight  on  the  horrors  of  the  scaf- 
fold and  the  stake ^ — was  the  willing  tool  of  a  bloodthirsty  and 
treacherous  tjTant  ^ — a  trafficker  in  simony  and  suborner  of 
perjury^ — a  conspirator,  seeking  to  deluge  his  country  in  blood^ 
— a  sycophant,  a  traitor,^  and  a  liar.s 

1  Vol.  i.  506.  s  Vol.  i.  656.  3  Vo].  i.  665. 

*  Vol.  ii.  230.  5  Vol.  ii.  298,  299.  «  Vol.  iv,  20,  31. 

7  Vol.  iii.  587.  »  Vol.  iii.  599. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  135 

Such  are  the  charges  scattered  through  Lord  INIacaulay's 
pages ;  and  in  support  of  them  he  relies  on  the  part  taken  by 
Peun  on  the  following  occasions : — 

I.  His  conduct  with  regard  to  the  Maids  of  Taunton.— Vol.  i.  655. 
II.  His  presence  at  the  executions  of  Cornish  and  of  Gaunt. — VuL  i. 

665. 
IIL  His  conduct  in  the  affair  of  Kiffin.— Vol.  ii.  230. 
IV.  The  transactions  relating  to  Magdalen  College. — Vol.  ii.  298. 
V.  His  supposed  communication  with  James  II.  whilst  in  Ireland. — 
Vol.  iii.  587. 
VI.  His  alleged  falsehood  in  a  supposed  interview  with  William  III. — 

Vol.  iii.  599. 
VII.  His  alleged  share  in  Preston's  plot. — Vol.  iv.  20. 
VIII.  His  interview  with  Sidney. — Vol.  iv.  30. 
IX.  His  alleged  communications  with  James  whilst  the  latter  was  at  St 
Germains. — Vol.  iv.  3L 

I  purpose  to  examine  the  evidence  relating  to  each  of  these 
charges,  confining  myself  as  much  as  possible  to  original  and 
unquestionable  documents,  and  indicating  in  every  case  the 
evidence  on  which  I  rely,  and  the  most  easy  mode  in  which 
the  reader,  if  so  disposed,  may  verify  my  statements  if  tme,  or 
detect  their  inaccuracy  if  I  have  fallen  into  error.  On  most 
points  the  evidence  is  abundant  and  easily  to  be  obtained. 
Lord  Macaulay  calls  Peun  "  rather  a  mythical  than  an  histor- 
ical person."  ^  Never  was  a  less  appropriate  epithet.  Penn 
lived  much  in  public.  During  his  wliole  life  he  was  in  contest 
with  some  one  or  other.  His  birth,  education,  and  position, 
were  such  as  to  expose  him  to  constant  observation.  He  was 
a  prolific  writer — a  copious  correspondent.  The  personal  friend 
of  Algernon  Sidney,  John  Locke,  and  Archbishop  Tillotson — 
of  King  James  the  Second,  and  of  George  Fox — probably  no 
man  ever  lived  who  was  the  connecting  link  between  men  so 
diverse  and  so  hostile.  A  courtier,  a  scholar,  and  a  soldier,  he 
resigned  every  worldly  advantage,  and  left  the  gayest  Court  in 
Europe  to  take  up  his  cross  amongst  the  humblest  and  most 
peaceful  of  the  followers  of  his  Kedeemer.  Such  a  man  was 
certain  to  be  the  object  of  calumny  in  his  own  day ;  and 
accordingly,  we  find  that  there  was  hardly  an  act  of  Penn's  life 

>  Vol.  i.  506. 


13G  THK    NKW    "  EX  AM  EN. 

which  was  not  tlie  subject  of  hostile  comment.  To  speak  of 
him  as  a  "niytliical  rather  than  an  historical  j)erson,"  is  there- 
fore simply  absurd. 


I. 


The  First  in  order  on  the  black  list  of  Lord  Macaulay's 
charges,  relates  to  the  conduct  of  William  Penn  with  regard 
to  the  "  Maids  of  Taunton." 

Upon  the  entry  of  Monmouth  into  that  town,  and  on  the 
occasion  of  his  declaring  himself  heir  to  the  throne,  proclaim- 
ing himself  King,  setting  a  price  on  the  head  of  the  reigning 
monarch,  and  denouncing  the  Parliament  then  sitting  as  an 
unlawful  assembly,^  he  was  received  by  a  procession  of  the 
daughters  of  the  principal  inhabitants  of  the  place,  headed  by 
their  schoolmistress,  bearing  the  emblems  of  royalty,  who  pre- 
sented him  with  standards  worked  by  their  own  hands.^  That 
every  person  concerned  in  this  proceeding  incurred  thereby  the 
penalties  of  high  treason,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  But  it  does 
not  appear  ever  to  have  been  contemplated  by  James,  or  even 
by  Jeffreys,  to  enforce  the  rigour  of  the  law  against  girls,  some 
of  whom  were  not  more  than  ten  years  of  age.  In  those  days, 
however,  mercy  was  not  given,  but  sold.  A  pardon  for  the 
prisoner  w'ho  had  been  tried  in  the  morning,  is  said  to  have 
been  tossed  by  the  judge  who  condemned  him  to  the  com- 
panion of  his  evening  debauch,  who  the  next  day  made  the 
best  bargain  he  could  with  the  culprit  or  his  friends.^  From 
the  highest  to  the  lowest  the  infamous  traffic  prevailed.  The 
Court  and  the  Bench  shared  in  the  corruption,  and,  as  might 
be  expected,  a  swarm  of  inferior  agents  and  dealers  in  iniquity 
sprang  up.  The  names  of  some  of  these  have  been  preserved, 
and  appear  in  the  registers  of  the  Privy  Council,  in  the  Secret 
Service  Book  of  Charles  and  James  the  Second,  and  in  the 
records  of  those  families  whose  members  were  the  victims  of 

^  Maciiulay,  i.  5S8. 

»  Macuiilay,  i.  5S4-5S6  ;  Toiilmin's  Hist,  of  Taunton,  4to,  1791,  13G. 

'  Macaulav,  i.  653. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  137 

their  rapacity.  Eobert  Brent  occupies  the  most  prominent 
place.  His  name  occurs  repeatedly.  After  the  Eevolution,  a 
proclamation  was  issued  for  his  apprehension.^ 

After  Brent  comes  George  Penne,  whose  name  has  been  pre- 
served in  consequence  of  his  having  been  employed  to  negotiate 
the  pardon  of  Azariah  Pinney,  a  member  of  a  Somersetshire 
family  who  had  been  involved  in  Monmouth's  rebellion.^ 

George  Penne's  infamous  trade  appears  not  to  have  pros- 
pered. Probably  his  business  became  less  lucrative  when  the 
wholesale  slaughter  consequent  on  the  suppression  of  Mon- 
mouth's rebellion  ceased.  We  find  him  some  time  afterwards 
an  applicant  to  the  Crown  for  the  grant  of  a  patent  office  for 
the  establishment  of  a  lottery  and  licensing  gaming-tables  in 
America. 

His  petition  for  this  purpose  was  presented  to  the  Privy 
Council  during  the  time  when  Sunderland  was  President ;  and 
Sunderland  attended  in  person  the  meeting  at  which  it  was 
discussed.^  It  is  not  stated  whether  he  was  successful  in  his 
application ;  but  he  disappears  from  history,  and  his  name 
would  probably  have  been  utterly  forgotten  by  this  time  had 
it  not  been  preserved  to  be  the  occasion  of  an  unfortunate  mis- 
take, consequent  upon  its  similarity  to  that  borne  by  the 
celebrated  founder  of  Pennsylvania.  But  for  this,  George 
Penne  would  have  shared  the  fate  of  the  obscure  crowd  of 
his  fellow-workers  in  iniquity  who  have  passed  into  utter 
oblivion. 

When  it  had  been  resolved  that  the  lives  of  the  "  ]\raids  of 
Taunton"  (as  these  school  children  have  been  called)  should 
be    spared,   the   King   "gave   their   fines   to   the    INIaids   of 

1  Pii.  Co.  Reg.,  27th  Fub.  1G8«. 

2  "Bristol,  SfptenilxT  1685. — Mr  John  Pinney  is  debitor  to  money  pd  Geo. 
Penne,  Hs(iuirc,  for  the  ransom  of  my  Bror  Aza.  August  1685.  £G5."  Entiy 
in  the  casli-book  preserved  at  Somerton  Erlegh  House,  cited  in  Dixon's  Life  of 
Penn — edit.  1851,  445;  ed.  1856,  xix.  Azariali  Pinney  of  Battiscomb  was 
a  son  of  tlie  Reverend  John  Pinney  of  Broad  Windsor,  Rector  of  Norton-sub- 
Haraden,  near  Yeovil.  Azariah  Pinney  was  sentenced  to  death  and  pardoned, 
and  "given  to  Jerome  Nipho,  Ks(|uire."  His  destination  was  tlie  islan<l  of 
Nevis,  but  he  was  redeemed,  and  Mr  Nipho  received  through  George  Penne 
the  sum  of  £65  as  his  ransom. — See  Roberts's  Life  of  Monmouth,  ii.  243. 

3  Pri.  Co.  Reg.  J.  R.,  540. 


138  THE   NF:W    **  EXAMEN. 

IfiiiKiiir."  '  In  (itlicr  words,  lie  pcrmittecl  the  Maids  of  Hon- 
our to  extort  as  iiiucli  money  from  tlio  fears  and  affections  of 
the  parents  and  relations  of  these  nnhappy  children  as  they 
coidd.  The  Maids  of  Honour  applied  to  the  Duke  of  Somerset 
(the  Lord  Lieutenant  of  the  county),  and  he  had  recourse  to 
Sir  Francis  Warre,  colonel  of  the  Taunton  Regiment,  who  had 
repeatedly  sat  in  Parliament  for  that  town,  and  who  then 
resided  at  Hestercombe,  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood.  To 
him  the  Duke  addressed  the  following  letter : — 

"  I  do  here  send  you  a  list  of  the  Taunton  Maydes.  You 
living  soe  near  to  Taunton  makes  me  think  that  you  know 
some  of  them,  therefore  pray  send  me  word  by  the  first  opor- 
tunity  whether  any  of  these  are  in  custody,  and  whoe  they 
are  ;  and  if  any  one  of  these  are  not  in  custody,  lett  them  be 
secured,  especially  the  schoolemistress,  and  likewise  send  me 
word  if  you  know  any  one  of  these,  because  there  are  some 
friends  of  mine  that  I  believe  upon  easy  termes  might  get 
theire  pardon  of  the  King.  Pray  send  me  an  answer  by  the 
first  opportunity,  and  in  so  doing  this  you  will  oblige  your 
humble  servant,  Somebset.- 

"  London,  Dec.  12,  1685." 

Sir  Francis  Warre's  reply  has  not  been  preserved ;  but  it 
would  seem  that,  between  the  date  of  this  letter — viz.,  12th  of 
December  1685 — and  the  end  of  the  year,  some  person  of  the 
name  of  Birde,^  who  is  stated  by  Lord  Macaulay  to  have  been 
town-clerk  of  Bridgewater,*  had  interfered  in  the  transaction  ; 
for,  on  the  14th  of  January  1685-6,  the  Duke  of  Somerset 
again  writes  as  follows  : — 

"  I  have  acquainted  the  Maydes  of  Honour  with  this  buise- 
ness  of  Mr  Birde,  and.  they  do  all  say  that  he  never  had  any 
authority  from  them  to  proceede  in  this  matter,  and  that  they 

^  Letter  of  Sunderlaud,  post. 

■  Toulmin's  Hist,  of  Tiumton,  163,  4to,  1791. 

'  Mac.,  edit.  1858,  ii.  239,  note. 

*  Querj-— of  Tauuton  ?— See  Toulmin,  Hist,  of  Taunton,  163. 


WILLIAM    PEXN.  139 

have  this  post  writ  to  him  not  to  trouble  himself  any  more  in 
this  affaire ;  soe  that  if  you  will  proceede  on  this  matter  ac- 
cording to  my  former  letter,  you  will  infinitely  oblige  your 
humble  servant,  Somerset. 

"/art.  14,  1C85. 

"  If  you  can  secure  any  of  them,  pray  doe,  and  let  me  have 

account  of  this  letter  as  soon  as  you  can. 

"  For  Sir  Fiancisse  Warre,  Bart.     To  be  left  at  the  posthouse  in  Tauntou, 
Somersets." 

The  next  letter  that  has  been  preserved  is  also  from  the 
Duke  of  Somerset  to  Sir  Francis  Warre,  and  is  dated  within  a 
week  of  the  one  last  quoted. 

"We  have  here  thought  fitt  that  things  would  be  better 
managed  if  there  was  a  letter  of  Atturney  given  to  somebody 
(that  you  should  think  fit  and  capable  of)  for  to  ayde  and 
assist  you  in  it,  that  there  may  be  noe  other  to  transact  this 
businesse  but  yourselfe,  and  another  of  your  recommending, 
that  should  bussle  and  stir  about  to  ease  you.  If  that  you 
know  of  any  such  man  that  you  can  trust,  pray  let  me  know 
it  by  the  first  oportunity,  that  the  IMaydes  of  Honour  may 
signe  his  letter  of  Atturney.  Pray  let  them  know  that  if  they 
doe  thus  put  it  off  from  time  to  time  that  the  Maydes  of  Hon- 
our are  resolved  to  sue  them  to  an  Outlawry,  so  that  pray  do 
you  advise  them  to  comply  with  what  is  reasonable  (which  I 
think  7000  is)  for  them. 

"  I  must  beg  a  thousand  times  over  your  pardone  for  giving 
you  this  trouble,  and  will  never  omit  anything  wherein  I  can 
serve  you,  sir. — I  am  your  very  humble  servant,       Somerset. 

"London,  Jan.  21,  1G85-6. 

"  For  Sir  Francissc  Warre,  Bart.    To  be  left  at  the  posthouse  in  Tauuton, 
Somersetts." 

Immediately  after  this  suggestion,  that  Sir  Francis  Warre 
should  name  some  subordinate  agent  to  "  bustle  and  stir  about," 
and  that  the  IMaids  of  Honour  should  send  a  letter  of  attorney 
for  that  purpose,  comes  the  following  letter  frum  the  Earl  of 


MO  TIIK    NKW    "  EXAMEN. 

Sundoilaiiil,  of  ^vlli(;ll  a  copy  is  preserved  amongst  a  very  mis- 
collaiK'ous  collection  entitled  "  Domestic — Various,"  in  the 
State-Paper  Oflice : — 

"  WiiiTKnALL,  Feb.  13,  1685-6. 

"  Mr  Penne, — Her  Majesty's  Maids  of  Honour  having  ac- 
quainted me  that  they  design  to  employ  you  and  Mr  Waldcn 
in  making  a  composition  with  the  relations  of  the  Maids  of 
Taunton  for  the  high  misdemeanour  they  have  been  guilty  of, 
I  do,  at  their  request,  hereby  let  you  know,  that  His  Majesty 
has  been  pleased  to  give  their  fines  to  the  said  Maids  of  Hon- 
our, and  therefore  recommend  it  to  Mr  Walden  and  you  to 
make  the  most  advantageous  composition  you  can  in  their 
behalfe. — I  am,  sir,  your  humble  servant,  Sunderland." 

Here  ends  the  whole  of  what  can  properly  be  called  evi- 
dence upon  the  subject.  We  shall  presently  have  to  examine 
the  accounts  given  by  different  historians  of  the  transaction, 
to  consider  what  reliance  is  to  be  placed  on  the  narratives  of 
some,  and  what  inferences  are  fairly  to  be  drawn  from  the 
silence  of  others.  But  here,  resting  upon  this  affirmative  testi- 
mony alone,  it  may  fairly  be  asked,  Can  any  reasonable  doubt 
exist  that  the  Mr  Penne  to  whom  the  letter  of  Sunderland  is 
addressed  was  the  same  George  Penne  who,  at  the  same  time 
and  in  the  same  county,  was  employed  in  negotiating  a  similar 
transaction  in  the  case  of  Azariah  Pinncy  ? 

Lord  IMacaulay,^  however,  declares  his  conviction,  unaltered 
and  unalterable,  that  this  curt  missive  of  Sunderland,  though 
addressed  to  "  jNfr  Penne  " — though  written  immediately  upon 
the  suggestion  that  "  somebody  "  should  be  named,  to  "  bustle 
and  stir  about,"  and  to  "  ease  and  assist "  Sir  Francis  Warre, 
to  whom  the  Duke  of  Somerset  was  so  profuse  in  his  apologies 
for  "  the  trouble  he  gave  him  " — though  "  George  Penne  "  was 
exactly  such  a  person,  and  was  engaged  at  this  very  time  upon 
precisely  similar  business  in  the  same  county,  and  therefore 
most  likely  to  be  known  both  to  Warre  and  Somerset — and 
although  no  allusion  to  any  other  person  of  the  name  of 
^Mac,  edit.  1858,  ii.  236,  note. 


WILLIAM   PENN.  141 

"  Penne  "  or  "  Penn,"  except  George  Penne,  is  to  be  found  in 
the  transaction, — yet  that  this  letter  was  addressed,  not  to  him, 
but  to  William  Penn,  the  Lord  Proprietor  of  the  province  of 
Pennsylvania,  the  friend  of  Algernon  Sidney  and  John  Locke, 
the  ward  and  intimate  associate  of  the  King — M-ith  whom 
James  was  in  the  habit  of  conferring  for  hours,  whilst  the 
first  nobles  of  the  kingdom  were  kept  waiting  in  the  ante- 
chamber ^ — whose  house  was  crowded  by  hundreds  of  suitors  ^ 
— who  occupied  at  that  moment  a  social  position  far  higher 
than  that  of  Sir  Francis  Warre — with  whom  Sunderland  had 
been  intimate  from  boyhood — whose  associate  and  companion 
he  had  been  at  college — and  with  whom  he  must  at  this  very 
time  have  been  in  almost  daily  intercourse. 

It  may  be  asked.  Upon  what  evidence  does  Lord  Macaulay 
ground  this  supposition?  The  answer  is,  Simply  upon  none. 
It  is  fair,  however,  to  state  that  he  is  not  the  originator  of  the 
calumny;  and  before  discussing  the  reasons  which  in  his 
opinion  justify  him  in  repeating  and  giving  it  currency  and 
authority,  it  will  be  well  to  trace  the  origin  of  the  charge. 
We  have  seen  the  whole  of  the  evidence — we  now  come  to  the 
history. 

No  contemporary  historian  that  I  have  been  able  to  discover 
mentions  either  William  Penn  or  George  Penne  as  having 
had  anything  whatever  to  do  with  the  transaction. 

Oldmixon  asserts  that  Brent  and  a  person  of  the  name  of 
Crane  were  employed.^     Ealph  says  that  the  Maids  of  Honour 

I  Mac,  edit.  1858,  ii.  82,  note.  '   Ibid. 

^  "This  money"  [i.  e.,  the  sums  paid  for  the  pardons],  "and  a  {^reat  deal 
more,  was  said  to  be  for  the  Maids  of  Honour  ;  whose  af:jent  Brent,  the  Topish 
lawyer,  liad  an  under-agent,  one  Crane  of  Bridgewater,  and  'tis  supposed  that 
both  of  them  paid  themselves  very  bountifully  out  of  the  money  which  was 
raised  by  this  means;  sonie  imtances  of  which  arc  within  my  knoicleifgc." — 
Oldmixon,  ii.  708.  Lord  Macaulay  says  that  Oldmixon  is,  of  all  our  his- 
torians, "the  least  trustworthy;"  that  he  "asserts  nothing  positively;" 
that  ho  "  goes  no  further  than  '  it  was  said,'  and  '  it  was  reported,'  "  and  that 
even  "his  most  positive  assertion"  wuuhl  in  this  case  be  of  "no  value." 
Lord  Macaulay  seems  to  have  overlooked  the  statement  winch  Oldmixon 
makes  that  some  of  the  instances  were  within  his  own  knowledge.  One  thing 
is  certain — namely,  that  had  Oldmixon  ever  heard  that  William  Penn  had  any 
share  in  the  transaction,  he  would  have  recorded  it  with  exultation.  Lord 
Macaulay  appears  also  to  have  forgotten  that  he  had  himself  cited  Oldmixon 


142  TIIK    NKW    "KXAMEN. 

"sent  down  an  agent,"  but  does  not  say  who  that  agent 
was.* 

Other  contemporary  historians  are  silent.  The  only  inference 
to  be  drawn  from  them,  therefore,  is  derived  from  the  extreme 
improbability  that  they  would  have  been  silent  if  a  man  so 
eminent  and  so  obnoxious  to  many  of  them  as  William  Penn 
had  been  concerned  in  the  transaction.  That  they  should 
pass  over,  or  be  entirely  ignorant  of,  the  doings  of  the  obscure 
George  Penne,  is  by  no  means  unlikely.  Sir  Francis  Wane's 
part  of  the  correspondence  with  the  Duke  of  Somerset  has 
unfortunately  been  lost ;  but  it  will  be  observed  that  there  is 
nothing  in  the  Duke's  letters  from  which  it  can  be  inferred 
that  Sir  Francis  Warre  was  reluctant  to  be  employed,  or  con- 
sidered such  employment  in  any  way  disgraceful.  With  the 
lapse  of  time,  however,  the  matter  came  to  be  regarded  from  a 
very  dififerent  point  of  view  ;  and  when  Dr  Toulmin  applied, 
at  the  close  of  the  last  century,  to  the  descendant  of  Sir 
Francis  Warre,  who  supplied  him  with  the  letters  from  the 
Duke  to  his  ancestor,  he  was  informed  that  "  Sir  Francis 
Warre,  unwilling  to  be  concerned  in  the  business,  represented 
to  the  Duke  that  the  schoolmistress  was  a  woman  of  mean 
birth,  and  that  the  scholars  worked  the  banner  by  her  orders, 
without  knowing  of  any  offence.  On  this,  further  proceedings 
were  dropped,  but  not  until  the  sums  of  £100  and  £50  had 
been  gained  from  the  parents  of  some  of  them."  ^ 

no  less  than  seventeen  times  as  an  authority  for  his  narrative  of  the  events 
connected  with  Monmouth's  insurrection — that  lie  had  three  times  drawn 
attention  to  the  fact  that  "  Oldmixon,  when  a  boy,  lived  near  the  scene  of 
these  events  " — that  he  was,  iirobably,  an  eyewitness  of  some  of  tlu-m,  and  that 
he  passed  a  great  part  of  his  life  at  Bridge  water.  That  such  was  the  confidence 
to  be  placed  in  him,  that  his  silence  on  the  subject  was  sufficient  to  negative 
the  truth  of  a  well-known  and  horrible  anecdote  popularlj'  believed  of  the 
monster  Kirke.  Such  is  the  mode  in  which  the  authority  of  Oldmixon  is 
treated  by  Lord  Macaulay,  when  Kirke — who  added  to,  or,  as  Lord  Macaulay 
ajtpcars  to  think,  atoned  for,  his  enormities  by  treachery  to  the  master  in  whose 
ser\-ice  he  had  committed  them  — is  to  be  vindicated.  When  Penn  is  to  be  tra- 
duced, Oldmixion  becomes  the  "least  trustworthy"  of  "all  our  historians," 
and  his  most  positive  assertion  of  no  value  ! — Vol.  i.  5S1,  604,  613,  636,  edit 
1S49  ;  vol.  iii.  226,  IS.'io  ;  vol.  iii.  244,  256,  edition  1S58. 

•  Ralph,  i.  S93. 

=  Toulmins  History  of  Taunton.  Svo,  533;  4to,  1791,  163. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  143 

By  the  time  that  Dr  Toulmin  wrote  his  History,^  the  trans- 
action had  come  to  be  considered  as  by  no  means  reputable ; 
and  we  need  not  be  surprised  that  the  family  tradition  should 
be  that  Sir  Francis  Warre  was  unwilling  to  be  concerned  in 
it ;  but  had  he  handed  it  over  to  a  man  so  eminent  as  William 
Penn,  it  can  hardly  be  supposed  that  so  important  a  fact 
could  have  been  forgotten  ;  yet  we  find  no  trace  of  it. 

"We  now  come  to  the  origin  of  the  calumny. 

Nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  after  the  events  had 
taken  place,  Sir  James  Mackintosh  happened  to  meet  with 
the  letter  from  Sunderland  to  Penne  which  has  been  already 
quoted.  He  appears  not  to  have  accurately  examined  the 
previous  correspondence  between  Somerset  and  Warre,  and 
he  was  certainly  in  ignorance  of  the  existence  of  any  such 
person  as  George  Penne.  With  unfortunate  haste,  he  jumped 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  person  to  whom  this  letter  was 
addressed  must  have  been  William  Penn  ;  and  even  in  citing 
the  letter,  he  commits  the  mistake  of  stating  that  it  was 
addressed  to  William  Penn, — the  fact  being  that  no  Christian 
name  at  all  is  used  in  the  original,  and  that  it  is  addressed, 
not  to  William  Penn,  but  to  Mr  Penne.^ 

The  passage  in  Mackintosh  is  as  follows  :  "  It  must  be 
added  with  regret  that  William  Penn,  sacrificing  other  objects 
to  the  hope  of  obtaining  the  toleration  of  his  religion  from 
the  King's  favour,  was  appointed  an  agent  for  the  Maids  of 
Honour,  and  submitted  to  receive  instructions  to  make  the 
most  advantageous  composition  he  could  in  their  behalf."  ^ 
The  continuer  of  IMackintosh  adopts  the  statement,  and  adds, 
that  Penn  went  down  to  Taunton  ;  ■*  in  support  of  which  asser- 
tion he  cites  Ealph,  who,  as  we  have  seen,  never  mentions  Penn 
in  the  matter,  but  says  that  the  Maids  of  Honour  sent  down 
"  an  agent."  That  Lord  INIacaulay  should,  in  the  first  instance, 
have  followed  Mackintosh  without  inquiry,  should  hardly  ex- 
cite surprise  ;  but  after  liaving  had  his  attention  drawn  to  tlie 

1  Pul-lished  1791. 

^  Sir  James  Mackintosh  citc8  it  thus  :  "  Lord  Sunderland  to  "William  Penn, 
13th  Fob.  1686  ;  State-Paper  Onice."  Prol.al.ly  he  did  not  examine  the 
original,  and  tru.sted  to  some  careless  transcriber. 

*  Mack.,  32,  4to.  ■•  Wallace's  Continuation  of  Mackintosli,  viii. 


144  TIIK    NEW   "EXAMEN. 

evidence,  vvliicli  was  not  in  the  possession  of  Mackintosh,  and 
the  origin  of  tlie  mistake  pointed  out,^  he  declares  his  dett^r- 
niination  to  adhere  to  liis  orif,anal  statement,  and  justifies  that 
(li'terinination  at  great  length  in  a  note  to  tlie  edition  of  his 
History  recently  published,^  upon  the  following  grounds  : — 

First,  That  Sir  James  Mackintosh  had  no  doubt  about  the 
matter.^ 

Tlie  authority  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh  is  unquestionably 
high.  But  Sir  James  Mackintosh  would  have  been  the  first 
to  admit  the  possibility  that  he  might  be  led  into  error  by 
deficient  information  or  by  the  mistake  of  a  transcriber,  and 
the  first  to  correct  that  error.  Lord  Macaulay  is  put  into 
possession  of  the  evidence  which  Sir  James  Mackintosh  had 
not,  and  the  mistake  of  the  transcriber  is  pointed  out.  Sir 
James  Mackintosh  is  dead,  and  cannot  correct  the  error ;  Lord 
J\Lacaulay  is  living,  and  will  not.^  The  argument  derived  from 
the  authority  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  under  these  circum- 
stances, must  go  for  as  much  as  it  is  worth. 

Secondly,  That  the  names  "Penn"  and  "Penne"  are  the 
same.  Lord  JNIacaulay  admits  that  both  William  Penn  and 
his  father  the  Admiral  invarially  spelt  the  name  Penn,  but 
lu-ges  that  other  people  sometimes  spelt  it  Pen  and  Penne  : 
that  Hide  is  sometimes  Hyde ;  Jeffries,  Jefferies,  Jeffereys, 
and  Jeffreys  :  that  Somers  is  Sommers,  and  Summers ;  Wright 
is  Wrighte  ;  and  Cowper,  Cooper. 

The  letter  of  Sunderland  is  addressed  to  "  ]Mr  Penne  ;  "  and 

'  Dixon's  Life  of  Penn,  Supplementary  Chapter. 

2  Edit.  1858,  p.  236.  ^  Mac,  edit.  1858,  ii.  236,  note. 

*  Yet  there  are  cases  in  which  Lord  Macauhiy  has  shown  more  candour  and 
a  juster  spirit.  In  the  first  edition,  i.  561,  describing  the  execution  of  Argyle, 
he  says,  "  the  troops  who  attended  the  procession  were  put  under  the  command 
of  Claverhouse,  the  fiercest  and  stoutest  of  the  race  of  Graham."  Thus  it  stood 
in  five  editions.  Mr  Aytoun  pointed  out  the  error,*  and  in  1858  Lord  ILic- 
aulay  admits  that  he  had  confused  the  Town  Guard  with  the  dragoons  of  Dun- 
dec,  and  Graham  their  captain  with  Gnihame  of  Claverliouse.  Etiit.  of  1858, 
ii.  139.  "When  Lord  Macauhiy  penned  this  correction,  did  his  conscience 
recall  to  him  the  bitter  scorn  with  which  he  once  held  up  a  brother  essayist  to 
contempt  for  referring  to  the  axe  instead  of  the  halter,  as  the  instrument  by 
which  Montrose  nut  his  death  ? 

'  L,iys  of  the  C.iv.aliers,  .\iipenilix.  34S. 


WILLIAM   PENN.  145 

every  one  except  Lord  Macaulay  will  allow  that,  primd  facie, 
a  letter  is  intended  for  the  person  whose  name  is  correctly 
given  on  its  address,  and  not  for  a  person  whose  name  is  not 
correctly  given. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be  admitted  that,  in  the  great 
majority  of  cases.  Lord  Macaulay's  argument  is  correct,  and 
that  much  reliance  ought  not  to  be  placed  on  this  fact  if 
it  stood  alone.  There  are,  however,  peculiar  circumstances 
attending  the  case.  In  the  very  same  books  in  the  State- 
Paper  and  Privy  Council  Offices  in  which  the  name  of  George 
Penne  occurs,  the  name  of  William  Penn  also  occurs  re- 
peatedly; and  there  is  not  a  single  instance  in  which  it  is 
spelt  otherwise  than  Penn.  It  is  admitted  by  Lord  Macaulay 
that  William  Penn  and  his  father  the  Admiral  invariably 
spelt  the  name  Penn.  Is  it  likely  that  Sunderland,  who  had 
known  and  been  intimate  with  William  Penn  from  his  boy- 
hood, who  must  have  been  in  constant  intercourse  with  him 
at  this  very  time,  should  have  deviated  from  this  well-known 
orthography  in  this  single  instance  ? 

If  there  ever  was  a  case  in  which  reliance  should  be  placed 
on  such  a  fact,  surely  it  is  this. 

Thirdly,  Lord  Macaulay  urges  that  it  is  improbable  that  the 
Maids  of  Honour  would  have  employed  such  an  agent  as 
George  Penne ;  that  Sir  Francis  Warre  was  a  man  of  high 
rank  and  consideration,  and  therefore  it  is  unlikely  that  so 
low  a  fellow  as  George  Penne  should  be  employed  in  the 
transaction. 

It  is  exactly  because  he  was  a  low  fellow  that  he  was  em- 
ployed. He  was  the  agent  to  "  bustle  and  stir  about "  ^ 
amongst  the  relatives  of  the  girls,  and  wring  the  uttermost 
farthing  from  tliem.  If  an  agent  had  been  required  to  com- 
municate with  the  King,  and  to  obtain  their  pardon,  William 
Penn  might  possibly  have  been  applied  to  ;  but  tliis  liad  been 
already  done.  The  pardon  was  obtained,  and  all  that  remained 
was  to  make  the  best  bargain  with  the  relatives  of  the  chil- 
dren. For  this  George  Penne,  not  AVilliam  Penn,  was  the 
fitting  agent. 

^  Duko  of  Somerset's  Letter  to  Wane,  anti'. 
E 


146  Tin-:  nhw  "examen. 

Fovrthly,  Lord  Macaulay  says  that  no  inference  should  be 
drawn  from  the  abrupt  and  uncourtcous  style  of  the  note,  or 
the  conjunction  of  the  obscure  Mr  Walden  with  the  King's 
porsoiKil  friend  and  tlie  lord-proprietor  of  a  province,  because 
the  IMarquess  of  Wellesley,  when  Governor  of  India,  ad- 
dressed his  brother  General  AVellesley,  in  official  communi- 
cations, with  the  formality  of  "  Sir." 

It  would  have  been  well,  if,  before  using  this  argument. 
Lord  ^[acaulay  had  observed  the  tone  of  the  Duke  of  Somer- 
set's letters  to  Sir  Francis  Warre,  and  asked  himself  whether 
those  of  Lord  Sunderland  to  William  Penn  were  likely  to  be 
less  courteous  ?  Let  the  reader  picture  to  himself  the  terms 
in  which  Lord  Sunderland  would  have  announced  to  the  Duke 
of  Somerset,  and  to  Sir  Francis  Warre,  that  the  King's  per- 
sonal and  confidential  friend  had  condescended  to  take  upon 
himself  to  "  bustle  and  stir  about,"  to  "  ease  and  assist "  the 
Somersetshire  Baronet,  and  the  profuse  expressions  of  grati- 
tude which  he  would  have  been  charged  to  express  on  the 
part  of  the  Maids  of  Honour,  and  then  let  him  turn  to  the 
letter  to  "  Mr  Penne,"  and  ask  himself  whether  the  language 
is  most  adapted  to  William  Penn  or  to  George  Penne  ? 

Fifthly,  Lord  Macaulay  has  one  argument  left,  and  one 
only. 

It  is,  that  such  is  his  opinion,  and  such  shall  be  his  opinion. 
This  is  an  argument  which  it  is  impossible  to  answer.  It  is 
the  same  reasoning  which  was  considered  by  Lord  Peter  to 
be  conclusive  in  the  great  debate  between  himself  and  his 
brothers,  ^Martin  and  Jack,  when  they  respectfully  submitted 
that  his  brown  loaf  was  not  mutton.  "  Look  ye,  gentlemen, 
cries  Peter  in  a  rage,  to  convince  you  what  a  couple  of  blind, 
positive,  ignorant,  wilful  puppies  you  are,  I  will  use  but  this 
plain  argument :  By  G — ,  it  is  good  true  natural  mutton  as 
any  in  Leadenhall  market,  and  confound  you  both  eternally  if 
you  offer  to  believe  otherwise."  ^ 

1  Tale  of  a  Tub,  120. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  14/ 


II. 


The  Seconcl  charge  brought  by  Lord  Macaulay  against 
William  Penn  is  of  a  nature  singularly  revolting. 

Of  the  many  judicial  murders  which  disgraced  that  period 
of  our  history,  none  were  more  infamous  or  more  cruel  than 
those  of  which  Cornish  and  Gaunt  were  the  victims.  The 
former  was  executed  with  all  the  detailed  horrors  of  the  sen- 
tence in  cases  of  high  treason,  and  the  latter  was  burnt  alive. 
The  executions  took  place  on  the  same  day.  William  Penn 
was  present  at  both.  Lord  Macaulay  says  :  "  William  Penn, 
for  wliom  exhibitions,  vjhich  humane  men  generally  avoid,  seem 
to  have  had  a  strong  attraction,  hastened  from  Cheapside, 
where  he  had  seen  Cornish  hanged,  to  Tyburn,  in  order  to  see 
Elizabeth  Gaunt  burned."  ^ 

This  insinuation  against  Penn's  well-known  character  for 
humanity  would  deserve  nothing  but  contempt,  did  it  come 
from  any  one  less  eminent  than  Lord  Macaulay.  It  was  by 
the  constancy  of  Penn  when  the  nerve  of  Calamy  had  failed, 
and  he  had  refused  to  accompany  Cornish  to  the  scaffold,^ 
that  his  memory  was  rescued  from  the  slander  that  he  died 
mad  or  drunk.^  It  is  from  Penn  that  we  know  the  meek 
courage  with  which  Elizabeth  Gaunt  submitted  to  her  cruel 
martyrdom^ — Juxon  stood  by  Charles  the  First  at  Whitehall — 

»  Vol,  i.  665,  edit.  1849  ;  vol.  ii.  249,  edit.  1858. 

2  "  He  often  visited  him  in  Newgato,  and,  being  earnestly  pressed  to  go 
along  with  him  to  the  place  of  execution,  was  not  able  to  do  it,  but  freely  told 
him  '  he  would  as  well  die  with  him  as  bear  the  sight  of  his  death  in  such  cir- 
cumstances as  he  was  in.'" — Life  of  Calamy,  i.  61. 

It  may  be  observed  that  the  nephew  of  Calamy,  afterwards  the  celebrated 
Nonconformist  divine,  was  present  at  the  execution  of  Cornish  as  well  as  Penn, 
and  has  left  an  account  of  it. — Life  of  Calamy,  ub.  supra. 

'  "He  wa.s  drunk,  they  said,  or  out  of  his  mind,  when  he  was  turned  off." 
—Macaulay,  ii.  247,  1858. 

"  Cornish  at  his  death  asserted  his  innocence  with  great  vehemence,  and 
with  some  acrimony  complained  of  the  methods  taken  to  destroy  him  ;  ami  so 
they  gave  it  out  that  ho  died  in  a  fit  of  fury.  Rut  Pen,  who  saw  the  execution, 
said  to  me,  there  appeared  nothing  but  ii  ju-st  indignation  that  innocence 
niiglit  very  naturally  give." — P<urnet,  iii.  61, 

*  She  died  with  a  constancy,  even  to  cheerfulness,  that  struck  all  tliat  saw 


148  Till-:    NKW    "ex AMEN. 

Tillutrioii  and  JUuiicl  received  tlie  last  words  of  Lord  liussell 
on  the  scaflbld  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.^  History,  sacred  and 
profane,  affords  other  instances  of  fidelity  even  to  the  foot  of 
the  Cross.  Were  all  these  moved  only  by  "  the  strong  attrac- 
tions of  exhibitions  which  humane  men  generally  avoid"  ?  If 
not,  what  ri^dit  has  Lord  Macaulay  to  cast  so  foul  an  aspersion 
upon  a  man  whose  memory  has  been  honoured  for  humanity 
— who  would  not  shed  blood  even  in  a  lawful  quarrel — whose 
long  life  is  unstained  by  any  act  of  cruelty — and  who,  in 
countless  instances,  interposed  to  rescue  the  innocent  victims 
of  a  tyrannical  Government  ? 


III. 


On  the  4th  of  April  1687,  the  King  issued  his  "Declaration 
for  Liberty  of  Conscience;"  or,  as  Lord  Macaulay  prefers  to 
call  it,  "  The  Memorable  Declaration  of  Indulgence." 

This  celebrated  State  Paper  well  deserves  a  careful  perusal. 

it.  She  said,  charity  was  a  part  of  her  religion  as  well  as  faith.  This,  at 
worst,  was  the  feeding  an  enemy  ;  so  she  hoped  she  had  her  reward  with  Him 
for  whose  sake  she  did  this  service,  how  unworthy  soever  the  person  was  that 
made  so  ill  a  return  for  it.  She  rejoiced  that  God  had  honoured  her  to  be  the 
first  that  suffered  by  fire  in  this  reign,  and  that  her  suffering  was  a  martyrdom 
for  that  religion  which  was  all  love.  Pen  the  Quaker  told  me  he  saw  her  die. 
She  laid  the  straw  about  her  for  burning  her  speedily,  and  behaved  herself  in 
such  a  manner  that  all  the  spectators  melted  in  tears." — Burnet,  iii.  58. 

"  There  is  daily  imjuisitiou  for  those  engaged  in  the  late  plots  ;  some  die 
denying,  as  Alderman  Cornish — others  confessing,  but  justifying. 

"  Cornish  died  last  sixth  day  in  Cheapside,  for  being  at  the  meeting  that 
Lord  Eussell  died  for,  but  denied  it  most  vehemently  to  the  last.  A  woman, 
one  Gaunt  of  Wapping,  of  Dr  Moore's  acquaintance,  was  burned  the  same  day 
at  Tyburn  for  the  high  treason  of  hiding  one  of  Monmouth's  anny  ;  and  the 
man  saved  came  in  [as  witness]  against  her.  She  died  composedly  and  fear- 
less, interpreting  the  cause  of  her  death  God's  cause.  Many  more  to  be  hanged 
— great  and  small.  It  is  a  day  to  be  wise — I  long  to  be  with  you,  but  the 
eternal  God  do  as  He  pleases.  Oh,  be  watchful  !  fear  and  sanctify  the  Lord  in 
your  hearts." — Penn  to  Harrison,  Oct.  1685  ;  quoted  in  .Tanney's  Life  of  Penn. 

1  Burnet,  ii.  377.  The  reluctance  with  which  Buniet  performed  this  duty — 
his  meanness,  falsehood,  and  cowardice,  and  the  abject  manner  in  which  he 
deprecated  the  displeasure  of  the  King — are  shown  in  a  striking  manner  in  a 
letter  which  he  wrote  at  this  time  to  Mr  Brisbvine,  recently  published  in  Mr 
Napier's  Memoirs  of  Dundee,  i.  46. 


WILLIAM   PENN.  149 

It  sets  forth  concisely  the  great  principle  "  that  conscience 
ought  not  to  be  constrained,  nor  people  forced  in  matters  of 
mere  religion ;"  that  all  attempts  to  that  end  are  contrary  to 
the  intent  of  Government — destroy  trade — depopulate  the 
countries  in  which  they  are  practised — "  and,  finally,  never 
obtain  the  end  to  which  they  are  employed." 

That  "  after  all  the  frequent  and  pressing  endeavours  used 
in  eacli  of  the  last  four  reigns  to  reduce  this  kingdom  to  an 
exact  conformity  in  religion,  it  was  visible  the  success  had  not 
answered  the  design,  and  that  the  difficulty  was  invincible." 

These  are  sentences  which  might  have  come  from  the  pen 
of  Locke,  and  the  truth  of  which  was  tardily  acknowledged 
nearly  a  century  and  a  half  afterwards,  in  tlie  repeal  of  the 
Test  and  Corporation  Acts,  and  of  the  Catholic  disabilities. 
The  King  then  proceeds  to  grant  his  free  pardon  to  all  persons 
convicted  and  under  sentence  for  "  all  crimes  and  things  by 
them  committed  contrary  to  the  penal  laws  formerly  made 
relating  to  religion,  and  the  profession  or  exercise  tliereof" 
So  far  the  Declaration  was  not  only  wise  and  just,  but  it  was 
strictly  in  accordance  with  law.  The  power  of  the  Crown  to 
pardon  such  offences  has  never  been  disputed.  But  James 
went  further  ;  he  added  the  following  fatal  words  :  "  We  do 
likewise  declare,  That  it  is  our  royal  will  and  pleasure  that 
from  henceforth  the  execution  of  all  and  all  manner  of  penal 
laws  in  matters  ecclesiastical,  for  not  coming  to  church,  or  not 
receiving  the  Sacrament,  or  for  any  other  nonconformity  to 
the  Religion  Established,  or  for  or  by  reason  of  the  exercise  of 
religion,  in  any  manner  whatsoever,  be  immediately  suspended: 
and  the  further  execution  of  the  said  penal  laws,  and  every  of 
them,  is  hereby  suspended." 
..  It  might  be  wise  to  repeal  these  laws,  but  the  King  had  no 
power  to  suspend  them.  The  Crown  may  pardon  a  murderer, 
but  cannot,  without  the  assent  of  Parliament,  declare  that 
death  shall  not  in  future  be  awarded  to  him  wlio  shall  be 
guilty  of  the  crime  of  murder.  The  line  Mhicli  divides  the 
power  of  pardoning  an  act  when  done,  from  the  power  of 
authorising  the  doing  of  that  act,  is,  however,  by  no  means  so 
strongly  defined  as  to  occasion  any  surprise  that  it  should  be 


ino  THE   NEW    "EXAMEN. 

overlooked  l»y  lioiicsl  luid  oven  clear-sighted  men.  It  was 
not,  however,  overlooked  by  Penn.^  He  opposed  this  uncon- 
stitutional act  in  private  and  in  public.  In  the  address  of  the 
(Quakers  presented  by  Penn  to  the  King,  the  necessity  of  olj- 
taining  the  concurrence  of  Parliament  is  distinctly  pointed 
out  and  insisted  upon.-  Lord  INIacaulay  suppresses  these  facts, 
and  speaks  contemptuously  of  the  address  as  "  adulatory,"  and 
the  speech  of  Penn  as  "more  adulatory  still." ^  It  would  be 
diflicult  to  find  either  an  address  or  a  speech  to  a  crowned 
head  to  which  the  term  was  less  applicable  ;  a  reference  to  the 
documents  will  show  the  extent  to  which  Lrord  Macaulay  mis- 
represents the  character  of  both.^ 

The  Dissenters  were  divided  as  to  the  mode  in  which  the 
Declaration  should  be  received. 

One  party  braved  the  distant  terrors  of  Popery,  and  gi'ate- 
fully  accepted  the  freedom  offered  by  the  Iving.  For  this  Lord 
Macaulay  heaps  upon  them  every  vituperative  epithet  of  the 
English  language.®  The  other  adopted  the  Church  of  England 
as  their  protectress,  and  regarded  their  present  state  of  subjec- 
tion, degradation,  and  incapacity,  as  a  less  evil  than  the  more 
active  persecution  which  they  dreaded  if  Popery  were  to  obtain 
even  toleration.  To  them  Lord  Macaulay  awards  the  meed  of 
virtue,  wisdom,  and  moderation.^ 

At  this  moment  the  Dissenters  held  the  balance.  "  Then," 
says  Lord  Macaulay,  "  followed  an  auction  the  strangest  that 

^  "As  we  came  from  Eaton  to  "Windsor,  I  freely,  amongst  other  things,  tokl 
Mr  Penn  that,  though  I  was  for  liberty  of  conscience,  I  thought  the  King  ill 
advised  to  put  out  his  Declaration  of  Indulgence  upon  the  dispensing  power  ; 
to  which  Mr  I'enn  made  no  answer  then  :  but  many  years  after  (upon  what 
occasion  I  shall  tell  more  at  large  before  I  have  done)  I  came  to  know  the  reason 
of  his  silence,  icldch  icas  because  Mr  Penn  had  been  hvnself  against  putting  it  out 
upon  so  unpojnilar  a  prcroyative." — Lawton's  Memoir  ;  Janney's  Life  of  Penn, 
300. 

-  "  "We  hope  the  good  effects  thereof"  [i.e.,  of  the  Declaration  for  Liberty  of 
Conscience],  "  for  the  peace,  trade,  and  prosperity  of  the  kingdom,  will  pro- 
duce such  a  concurrence  from,  the  Parlinmrnf  as  may  secure  it  to  our  posteritj' 
in  after-times." — Seethe  Address  in  full.  Life  of  Penn,  by  Besse;  folio,  i. 
130,  131. 

3  Vol.  ii.  488,  1858. 

*  See  the  "Declaration,"  "Address,"  and  "Speech"  at  length  ;  Appendix. 

^  Vol.  il  223;  432,  1858.  «  Vol.  ii.  225  ;  484,  1858. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  151 

history  has  recorded.  On  one  side  the  King,  on  the  other  the 
Church,  began  to  bid  eagerly  against  each  other  for  the  favours 
of  those  whom,  up  to  that  time,  the  King  and  the  Church  had 
combined  to  oppress."  ^ 

The  Baptists,  who  then  numbered  in  their  ranks  the  cele- 
brated John  Bunyan,  were  a  powerful  and  important  sect,  well 
worth  conciliating.  Of  this  sect,  William  Kiffin,  whose  grand- 
sons, the  Hewlings,  had  fallen  victims  to  Jeffreys,  was  the 
most  influential  member,  "  Great,"  says  Lord  Macaulay,  "  as 
was  the  authority  of  Bunyan  over  the  Baptists,  that  of  William 
Kiffin  was  still  greater.  .  .  .  The  heartless  and  venal 
sycophants  of  Whitehall,  judging  by  themselves,  thought  that 
the  old  man  would  be  easily  propitiated  by  an  alderman's 
gown,  and  by  some  compensation  in  money  for  the  property 
which  his  grandsons  had  forfeited.  Penn  was  employed  in  the 
work  of  seduction,  but  to  no  purpose."  ^ 

Was  Penn  employed  in  the  work  of  seduction  ?  Lord  Mac- 
aulay asserts  that  he  was.  Kiffin  himself,  on  the  other  hand, 
distinctly  says  that  Penn's  interference  in  the  matter  was  at 
his  instance,  and  with  a  view  to  his  being  excused  the  honour 
which  it  was  sought  to  force  on  him.  Two  statements  more 
diametrically  opposed  to  each  other  cannot  be  conceived. 
Kiffin  was  the  person  principally  concerned  in  the  transaction, 
and  is  the  only  witness  with  regard  to  it.  His  account  of  the 
matter  is  in  the  following  words :  "  In  a  little  after,  a  great 
temptation  attended  me,  which  was  a  commission  from  the 
King,  to  be  one  of  the  aldermen  of  the  city  of  London  ;  which, 
as  soon  as  I  heard  of  it,  I  used  all  the  means  I  could  to  be 
excused,  both  by  some  lords  near  the  King,  and  also  by  Sir 
Nicholas  Butler  and  Mr  Penn.  But  it  was  all  in  vain  ;  I  was 
told  that  they  knew  I  had  an  interest  that  might  serve  the 
King ;  and  although  they  knew  my  sufferings  were  great,  in 
cutting  off  my  two  grandchildren,  and  losing  their  estates,  yet  it 
should  be  made  up  to  me  both  in  their  estates,  and  also  in  what 
honour  or  advantage  I  could  reasonably  desire  for  myself."  ^ 

»  Mac.  ii.  216;  471,  1858.  »  Vol.  ii.  488,  edit.  1858. 

'  Ornip,  Life  of  Kifliii,  85.  Exactly  traiiscribcd  from  tlu'  copy  in  the 
British  Museum. — J.  P. 


152  THE    NEW   "  EXAMEN. 

Killiii  says  he  applied  to  Sir  Nicholas  Butler  and  Penn  to  be 
excused.  He  says  not  one  word  of  Penn  applying  to  him. 
Lord  Macaulay  asserts^  that  the  latter  jjart  of  the  passage 
"  fully  bears  out"  all  that  he  has  said,  and  complains  that  Mr 
Hepworth  Dixon  acts  luifairly  by  terminating  his  quotation 
at  the  words,  "  but  it  was  all  in  vain."  ^  And  what  does  Lord 
Macaulay  do  ?  To  make  the  passage  suit  his  purpose,  he  alters 
it!  He  says,  "The  remainder  of  the  sentence,  which  fully 
bears  out  all  I  have  said,  is  carefully  suppressed.  Kiffin 
proceeds  thus  :  '  I  was  told  that  they  (Nicholas  and  Penn) 
knew  I  had  an  interest  that  might  serve  the  I^ng,'  &c. 
&c." 

Tlie  words  "  Nicholas  and  Penn  "  are  not  used  in  this  place 
by  Kiffin  :  they  are  interpolated  by  Macaulay  !  And  this  in 
the  very  sentence  in  which  he  is  complaining  that  a  quotation 
has  stopped  short  at  a  semicolon  instead  of  a  full  stop  !  The 
words  "  they  knew "  may  grammatically  mean  that  Nicholas 
and  Penn  knew  ;  but  they  by  no  means  necessarily  bear  that 
meaning.  The  context  shows  that  Kiffin  used  them  in  the 
sense  of  "on  savait,"  or,  "it  was  known."  Kiffin  employed 
Penn  and  his  other  friends  to  intercede  with  the  King  and 
his  advisers.  His  application  was  unsuccessful ;  and  he  is 
told  the  reason.  By  what  means  can  this  be  tortured  into  the 
employment  of  Penn  in  "  the  work  of  seduction  "  1  Lord 
Macaulay  must  have  felt  that  the  interpolation  he  has  made 
was  necessary  to  give  even  a  colour  of  possibility  to  such  a 
construction.'* 

Lord  Macaulay  has  given  his  readers  a  measure  of  what  he 
considers  honesty.     In  the  character  which  he  has  drawn  of 


1  Macaulay,  ii.  (1858)  488,  note. 

2  Dixon's  Life  of  Peun,  21,  edit.  1856. 

*  It  may  perhaps  be  said  that  these  words  are  in  a  parenthesis.  So  they 
would  be  if  used  by  Kiffin.  "When  words  are  introduced  which  are  not  used 
by  the  author  quoted,  there  are  two  ways  of  marking  the  fact,  either  by  revers- 
ing the  inverted  commas,  which  is  the  most  usual  and  correct  mode,  or  by 
placing  the  passage  in  hooks,  thus :  [Nicholas  and  Penn].  Marks  of  paren- 
thesis always  mean  that  the  parenthesis  occurs  in  the  original  passage  quoted; 
were  it  otherwise,  it  would  be  impossible  to  indicate  correctly  the  quotation  of 
a  passage  containing  a  parenthesis. 


WILLIAM   PENN.  153 

his  great  prototype,  Burnet,^  there  is  no  virtue  upon  which 
he  insists  more  strongly  than  his  honesty.     "  He  was,"  he 

*  "  Bishop  Burnet  was  a  man  of  tlio  most  extensive  knowledge  I  ever  met 
with  ;  had  read  and  seen  a  great  deal,  with  a  prodigious  memory  and  a  very 
indifferent  judgment.  He  was  extremely  partial,  and  readily  took  everything 
for  granted  that  he  heard  to  the  prejudice  of  those  he  did  not  like,  which  made 
him  pass  for  a  man  of  less  truth  than  he  really  was.  I  do  not  think  he 
designedly  published  anything  he  believed  to  be  false. 

"  He  had  a  boisterous,  vehement  manner  of  expressing  himself,  which  often 
made  him  ridiculous,  especially  in  the  House  of  I^ords,  when  what  he  said 
would  not  have  been  thought  so,  delivered  in  a  lower  voice  and  a  calmer 
behaviour.  His  vast  knowledge  occasioned  his  frequently  rambling  from  the 
point  he  was  speaking  to,  which  ran  him  into  discourses  of  so  universal  a 
nature,  that  there  was  no  end  to  be  expected  but  from  a  failure  of  his  strength 
and  spirits,  of  both  which  he  had  a  larger  share  than  most  men,  which  were 
accompanied  with  a  most  invincible  assurance." — Lord  Dartmouth's  Character 
of  Burnet,  Preface,  5. 

Lord  Alacaulay  quotes  a  few  words  from  this  note  as  the  testimonj'  of  an  ad- 
verse witness  to  Burnet's  truthfulness  ;*  but  he  omits  to  state  that  at  the 
commencement  of  the  second  volume  of  the  original  cdition,+  Lord  Dartmouth 
inserted  the  following  note  :  "  I  wrote,  in  the  first  volume  of  this  book,  that 
I  did  not  believe  the  Bishop  designedly  published  anything  he  believed  to  be 
false  ;  therefore  think  myself  obliged  to  write  in  this,  that  I  am  fully  satisfied 
that  he  published  many  things  that  he  knew  to  be  so  ; "  and  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  History  he  says,  t  "  Thus  piously  ends  the  most  partial  and  malicious 
heap  of  scandal  and  misrepresentation  that  ever  was  collected  for  tlie  laudable 
design  of  giving  a  false  impression  of  persons  and  things  to  all  future  ages." 
Lord  Macaulay  also  garbles  the  testimony  of  Swift.  He  says  :  "  Even  Swift 
had  the  justice  to  say,  'After  all,  he  [i.  e.,  Burnet]  was  a  man  of  generosity 
and  good-nature.'  "  There  Lord  Macaulay  inserts  a  full  stop  ;  in  the  original 
it  is  a  comma,  and  the  sentence  proceeds  as  follows:  "and  very  communi- 
cative ;  but  in  his  last  ten  years  was  absolutely  party-mad,  and  fancied  he  saw 
Popery  under  every  bush."§ 

Next  to  honesty,  humanity  is  the  virtue  which  Lord  llacaulay  most  delights 
to  claim  for  Burnet ;  and  to  maintain  his  character  for  it,  he  suppresses  the 
disgraceful  part  which  Burnet  took  in  the  attainder  of  Fenwick. 

That  attainder  was  worthy  of  the  worst  days  of  the  Stewarts.  Lord  Mac- 
aulay asserts  that  William  entertained  a  personal  hatred  of  Fenwick,  because 
six  years  before  he  had  failed  to  uncover  and  bow  as  the  Queen  passed  when 
she  held  royal  authority  in  William's  absence.  "  But  long  after  her  death," 
Bays  Lord  Macaulay,  "  a  day  came  when  he  had  reason  to  wish  that  he  had  re- 
strained his  insolence.  He  found,  by  terrible  proof,  that  of  all  the  Jacobites, 
the  most  desperate  assassins  not  excei)ted,  he  was  the  only  one  for  whom  Wil- 
liam felt  an  intense  personal  aversion."  || 

That  day  was  come.  Fenwick  had  been  guilty  of  treason,  but  the  law 
could  not  reach  him,  as  there  was  but  one  witness  of  his  guilt,  and  the  stiitute 
required  that  there  should  bo  two.     It  was  dctennined  to  immolate  him,  and  a 

•  Vol.  ii.  177.  t  Vol.  iv.  1,  OxfoRl  oililion.  J  Vol.  vi.  168. 

§  Swift's  Works,  xv.  215;  R«raarks  ou  Uisliop  Buruut's  Uislory.  ||  VoL  iv.  33. 


151  TinO    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

says,  "  oniplmtically  an  honest  man."  '  In  a  subsequent  part 
of  liis  History,-  wlicn  Lord  Macaulay  comes  to  rclato  the 
circumstances  which  attended  upon  the  dismissal  from  ollice 
of  Marlborough  in  January  1692,  he  adds  in  a  note  the  fol- 
lowing words:  "About  tlie  dismission  of  Marl borougli,  Bur- 
net wrote  at  the  same  time,^  '  The  King  said  to  myself  upon 
it  that  he  had  very  good  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  made 

bill  of  attainder  was  resorted  to.  Burnet,  departing  from  the  usual  rule 
which  restrains  hishops  from  taking  a  part  in  the  affairs  of  blood,  led  the 
attack.*  The  bill  passed  the  Lords  by  a  narrow  majority.  Of  a  hundred  and 
twenty-eight  Pcors,  fifty-five  voted  against  the  second  reading,  and  of  those 
forty-nine  protested.  The?  third  reading  was  carried  by  a  majority  of  seven 
only,  the  numbers  being  C8  to  61.t 

Fcnwick  petitioned  the  House  of  Lords  to  intercede  with  the  King  for  a  re- 
prieve of  two  days,  that  he  might  prepare  to  die.  The  House  readily  granted 
this  very  moderate  request,  and  ordered  the  Bishops  of  London  and^Salisbury 
(Burnet)  to  present  the  address  to  the*  King.  The  "humane"  Burnet 
refused.  "Their  lordships,"  he  said,  "might  send  him  to  the  Tower,  but 
they  had  no  right  to  send  him  to  Kensington."  The  indignation  of  the  House 
at  this  inhuman  refusal  was  universal.  Rochester  proposed  that  liumet 
should  bo  taken  at  his  word,  and  sent  to  the  Tower  for  refusing  to  obey  the 
orders  of  the  House  ;  but  Lord  Scarborough  said  he  "  hoped  they  would  not 
insist  upon  doing  a  hardship  to  the  only  man  in  the  House  who  would  think 
it  one  ; "  and  begged  that  he  might  himself  be  permitted  to  accompany  the 
Bishop  of  London.  This  was  agreed  to,  "  with  the  utmost  contempt  for  the 
reverend  prelate." — Note  by  Lord  Dartmouth,  who  was  present.  Burnet, 
iv.  341. 

Lord  Macaulay,  who  affects  to  give  a  detailed  account  of  these  transactions, 
wholly  omits  any  allusion  to  this  incident,  and  makes  no  reference  to  Lord 
Dartmouth's  note. — See  vol.  iv.  768.+  If  it  be  true,  as  Lord  Macaulay 
implies,  that  William  closed  his  ears  to  the  cries  for  mercy  which  rose  around 
him  from  feelings  of  "  intense  personal  aversion  "§ — that  he  added  to  this  the 
hj-pocrisy  of  pretending  to  consider  that  "  the  matter  was  one  of  public  con- 
cern, and  that  he  must  deliberate  with  his  ministers  "  before  he  decided  on  the 
petition  which  the  wife  of  Fenwick  offered  at  his  feet  || — that  the  last  bill  of 
attainder  by  which  any  person  has  suftered  death  in  England,^  was  passed  in 
order  that  he  might  gratify  the  feelings  of  revenge  which  he  entertained  for  a 
trifling  slight  olTered  si.\  years  previously,  by  bringing  to  the  block,  by  means 
of  an  ex  jmst  facto  law,  a  man  who  could  not  be  reached  by  the  arm  of  justice  ; 
— if  this  be  true,  the  world  has  seen  no  instance  of  more  fiendish  malignity.  If 
it  be  false,  no  fouler  slander  ever  issued  from  the  press.  True  or  false,  what 
must  we  think  of  the  moral  sense  of  the  historian  who  passes  it  over  without 
reprobation,  without  comment,  almost,  it  would  seem,  with  approval  ? 

1  Vol.  ii.  177,  edit,  of  1849  ;  vol.  ii.  433,  edit,  of  1858.         »  VoL  iv.  166. 

3  Sec  the  Burnet  MS.,  Harl.  6584,  cited  by  Lord  Macaulay,  iv.  166,  note. 

*  Mac.  iv.  75S,  75!).  t  Vol.  iv.  761.  t  VoL  \i\.  402,  1S5S. 

§  Vol.  iv.  34.  II  Vol.  iv.  766.  U  Vol.  iv.  769. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  155 

his  peace  witli  King  James,  and  was  engaged  in  a  correspond- 
ence with  France.  It  is  certain  he  was  doing  all  he  could  to 
set  on  a  faction  in  the  army  and  the  nation  against  the 
Dutch.' "  Lord  Macaulay  then  proceeds  as  follows :  "  It  is 
curious  to  compare  this  plain  tale,  told  while  the  facts  were 
recent,  with  the  slmffliny  narrative  ichich  Burnet  prepared  for 
the  public  eye  many  years  later,  when  Marlborough  v)as  closely 
united  to  the  Whigs,  and  was  rendering  great  and  splendid  ser- 
vices to  the  country."  ^  The  "  shuffling  narrative,"  as  Lord 
Macaulay  justly  calls  it,  asserts  that  the  original  cause  of  his 
disgrace  arose  from  a  quarrel  about  the  settlement  of  an 
income  on  the  Princess  Anne  ;  Burnet  deliberately  prepared 
this  posthumous  falsehood  in  1705.^ 

It  might  have  been  supposed  that  when  Lord  Macaulay 
discovered  this  proof  of  the  Bishop's  disregard  of  truth,  lie 
would  have  taken  the  earliest  opportunity  to  modify  his 
estimate  of  Burnet's  character ;  yet  he  has  permitted  it  to 
remain  unaltered  in  every  successive  edition.  We  are  there- 
fore driven  unavoidably,  however  reluctantly,  to  the  conclu- 
sion that,  in  Lord  IMacaiday's  opinion,  there  may  be  circum- 
stances under  which  it  is  consistent  with  "  emf)hatic  honesty  " 
to  prepare  a  deliberately  false  account  of  a  transaction  the 
truth  of  which  is  within  the  knowledge  of  the  writer,  and  to 
give  that  false  account  to  the  public  under  the  form  of 
history  !  This  estimate  of  what  a  historian  owes  to  his  party 
may  account  for  some  passages  in  Lord  Macaulay's  History 
which  otherwise  might  surprise  the  reader.  Penn  was  the 
object  of  bitter  hatred  and  persecution  on  the  part  of  those 
whom  Lord  Macaulay  seeks  to  extol.  He  was  faithful  in 
misfortune  to  those  whom  Lord  Macaulay  seeks  to  degrade. 
Those  simple  facts  may  perhaps  account  for  Lord  Macaulay's 
determination  to  blacken  his  character.  The  passage  just 
cited  shows  the  means  which  Lord  ]\Lacaulay  thinks  may  be 
used  consistently  with  "  emphatic  honesty." 

1  Vol.  iv.  167.  '^  See  IJunut,  iv.  I,  I,")7  ;  Oxloid  edit. 


15(5  THE    NKW    "EXAMEN. 


IV. 


Truth  and  fiction  are  so  strangely  interwoven  in  the  account 
wliich  Lord  ^Macaulay  gives  of  the  transactions  relating  to 
]\Iagdalen  College,  that  the  only  mode  in  which  they  can  be 
disentangled  is  by  a  short  narrative  of  the  facts  and  dates,  and 
a  reference  to  the  authorities.^  In  the  month  of  March  1C87, 
the  Presidentship  of  ^Magdalen  College  became  vacant  by  the 
death  of  Dr  Clark.  The  right  of  election  was  vested  in  the 
Fellows,  but  no  one  was  eligible  under  the  statutes  who  had 
not  been  a  Fellow  either  of  Magdalen  or  New  College.  The 
election  was  fixed  for  the  13th  of  April. 

On  the  5th  of  that  month  the  King  issued  his  mandate, 
requiring  the  Fellows  to  elect  one  Anthony  Farmer  to  the 
place  of  President.  A  more  unfit  selection  could  hardly  have 
been  made.  Farmer  was  not  a  Fellow  of  either  Magdalen  or 
New  College,  and  was  therefore  clearly  ineligible  by  the  stat- 
utes. He  was,  moreover,  a  man  of  dissolute  life  and  lax 
opinions ;  some  ten  years  before  he  had  been  admonished  by 
the  authorities  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge — to  which  he 
then  belonged — for  attending  a  dancing-school,  and  had  con- 
fessed the  crime.  He  then  committed  the  graver  offence  of 
becoming  usher  to  Mr  Benjamin  Flower,  a  Noncoufonnist 
preacher,  who  kept  a  school  at  Chippingham,  without  licence 
from  the  Bishop.  He  was  subsequently  entered  of  St  Mary 
Magdalen  Hall,  where  he  was  esteemed  to  be  of  a  "trouble- 
some and  unpeaceable  humour."  Leaving  the  Hall,  he  got 
himself  admitted  into  Magdalen  College,  and  was  observed  by 
the  porter  to  enter  the  College  late  at  night,  his  gait  and  speech 
both  betraying  symptoms  unbefitting  the  known  sobriety  of 
the  university.  He  was  said  (this,  however,  was  supported 
by  nothing  that  could  be  considered  as  legal  evidence)  to  have 
shared  with  a  profligate  gentleman  commoner  of  the  name  of 
Bambrigg,  and  his  companions,  whose  names  have  not  been 
preserved,  and  probably  would  not  be  worth  recording,  and 
even  to  have  encouraged  them  in  certain  dissolute  proceedings 

^  state  Trials,  xii.  1. 


WILLIAM   PENN.  157 

in  London.  ^Vlien  or  where  these  transactions  took  place 
does  not  appear,  nor  does  it  seem  that  the  worst  charges  were 
supported  by  more  than  mere  hearsay,  or  that  Mt  Farmer  ever 
had  the  opportunity  of  answering  them.  He  appears,  how- 
ever, on  one  occasion  to  have  spent  a  whole  day  at  the  Lobster 
in  Abingdon  with  Mr  Clerk,  Mr  Graveuor,  and  Mr  Jenny  far, 
when  he  sat  up  till  one  in  the  morning.  The  next  day  he 
went  to  the  Bush  Tavern  in  the  same  company,  and  added  the 
enormity  of  having  a  quarter  of  a  lamb  for  supper.  On  his 
return  to  the  Lobster  he  kissed  Mrs  Martha  INTortimer,  the 
landlady,  with  gross  rudeness,  and  she,  like  a  discreet  dame, 
"  immediately  went  out  of  his  company,  and  would  not  come 
nigh  him  any  more."  But  the  climax  of  his  iniquities  was 
attained  on  a  fatal  night  when,  in  company  of  William  Hop- 
kins of  Abingdon  and  some  others,  he  did,  "  in  a  frolick  and 
at  an  unreasonable  time  of  night,  take  away  the  town  stocks 
from  the  place  where  they  constantly  stood,  and  carried  them 
in  a  cart  a  considerable  way,  and  threw  them  into  a  pool, 
commonly  called  Mad  Hall's  Pool."  He  was  certainly  unfit, 
as  well  as  disqualified,  to  be  President  of  jNIagdalen  College.^ 
The  town  stocks,  which  he  treated  so  contumeliously,  would 
have  been  a  fitter  place  for  him.  Whether  he  deserves  the 
eloquent  execration  with  which  Lord  Macaulay  has  denounced 
him,  may  be  doubted.^  History  unhappily  records  blacker 
iniquities  than  any  that  have  been  charged  against  Anthony 
Farmer ;  and  abundant  as  Lord  Macaulay's  stores  of  abuse  are, 
there  are  limits  even  to  the  foul  epithets  of  the  English  lan- 
guage. It  is  reckless  prodigality  to  waste  so  much  vitupera- 
tion on  so  insignificant  an  object.  There  is  another  and  more 
serious  evil.  The  impetuous  torrent  of  abuse  sweeps  the 
offence  out  of  sight.  It  is  impossible  to  remember  that  a  man 
is  a  criminal  when  one  sees  him  broken  on  the  wheel.  When 
Lord  Macaulay  describes  the  "  frolick "  at  Abingdon  in  the 
following  words,  "  He  was  celebrated  for  having  headed  a  dis- 

1  Any  one  who  is  curious  as  to  the  particulars  of  tlie  nusdciils  of  this  very 
worthless  person,  will  find  them  recorded  in  the  12th  vol.  of  the  State  Trials, 
11  to  15. 

"Vol.  ii.  290;  iii.  21  ;  1S58. 


158  THE   NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

graceful  riot  at  Abingdon,"  '  ono  is  tempted  to  ask  how  long  it 
is  since  the  days  of  Tom  and  Jerry  ?  whether  Greenwicli  fair 
still  exists?  and  whether  sedate  men,  well  deserving  of  the 
highest  honours  that  Oxford  or  Cambridge  can  bestow,  have 
always  frowned  so  severely  on  such  proceedings?  whether, 
after  all,  one  would  not  rather  like  to  throw  the  parish 
stocks  (if  such  a  movable  could  be  found)  into  Mad  Hall's 
Pool  one's  self?  Nothing  is  so  destructive  of  sound  and 
healthy  morality  as  visiting  petty  offences  with  the  punish- 
ment due  to  great  crimes.  Lord  Macaulay  almost  leads  us 
to  forget  how  contemptible  a  person  Anthony  Farmer  really 
was.  The  Fellows  of  IMagdalen  acted  more  wisely :  they  re- 
lied on  his  ineligibility.^  They  represented  to  the  King  that, 
not  being  of  the  foundation,  he  was  incapable  according  to  the 
founder's  statutes;  and  they  prayed  his  Majesty  "either  to 
leave  them  to  the  discharge  of  their  duties  and  consciences, 
according  to  his  IMajesty's  late  most  gracious  toleration  and 
their  founder's  statutes,  or  to  recommend  such  a  person  who 
might  be  more  serviceable  to  his  Majesty  and  to  the  College."  ^ 
The  only  reply  they  received,  after  postponing  the  election  to 
the  last  moment  at  which  it  could  be  legally  held,  was  that 
"the  King  expected  to  be  obeyed."  The  FelloAvs  took  the 
bold  course,  adhered  to  their  statutes,  disobeyed  the  man- 
date of  the  King,  and  elected  Dr  Hough  as  their  President. 
He  was  sworn  and  admitted.  The  choice  of  the  Fellows  was 
as  judicious  as  that  of  the  King  had  been  otherwise.  Hough 
was  a  man  of  character,  learning,  ability,  and  courage,  well 
qualified  for  the  coming  struggle. 

On  the  6th  of  June  following,  the  Vice-President  and  Fel- 
lows were  cited  to  appear  at  "Whitehall  before  "  His  Majesty's 
Commissioners  for  Ecclesiastical  Causes,  &c.,"  to  answer  for 
their  disobedience  to  the  King's  mandate  ;  and  on  the  22d  of 
the  same  month  the  Commissioners  declared  the  election  of 
Hough  void.* 

No  further  step  was  taken  to  force  Farmer  upon  the  Col- 
lege ;  but  on  the  14th  of  August  the  King  issued  a  fresh  man- 

1  Vol.  iii.  21,  1858.  "  State  Trials,  xii.  10. 

3  stjitp  Trials,  xii.  6.  ••  State  Trials,  xii,  9,  16. 


WILLIAM   PENN.  159 

date,  requiring  the  Fellows  to  elect  Parker,  Bishop  of  Oxford, 
to  the  place  of  President. 

On  the  evening  of  Saturday,  the  3d  of  September,^  the  King, 
in  the  course  of  his  Progress,  arrived  at  Oxford,  and  on  the 
following  day  required  the  attendance  of  the  Fellows.  Of  this 
interview  the  following  curious  contemporary  record  is  pre- 
served in  the  State-Paper  Office  : — 

"  September  y  9th  /87. 

"  The  Lord  Sunderland  sent  order  to  the  Fellows  of  jMa^- 
dalene  College  to  attend  the  King  on  Sunday  last  at  11  o'clock, 
or  at  3  in  the  afternoon, 

"  They  attended  accordingly,  Dr  Pudsey  speaker. 

"  K.  '  WTiat's  your  name  ?    Are  you  Dr  Pudsey  ? ' 

"  Dr  P.  '  Yes,  may  it  please  your  Majesty.' 

"  K.  *  Did  you  receive  my  letter  ?  * 

"  Dr  P.  '  Yes,  sir,  we  did.' 

"  K.  '  Then  you  have  not  dealt  with  me  like  gentlemen. 
You  have  done  very  uncivilly  by  me,  and  undutifully.'  Tlien 
they  all  kneeled  down,  and  Dr  Pudsey  offered  a  petition  con- 
taining the  reasons  of  their  proceedings,  which  his  Majesty 
refused  to  receive,  and  said :  '  You  have  been  a  stubborn  and 
turbulent  College ;  I  have  known  you  to  be  so  this  twenty- 
six  years  ;  you  have  affronted  me  in  this.  Is  this  your  Church 
of  England  loyalty?  One  would  wonder  to  find  so  many 
Church  of  England  men  in  such  a  business.  Goe  back,  and 
show  yourselves  good  members  of  the  Church  of  England — gett 
ye  gone ;  know  I  am  your  King,  and  command  you  to  be 
gone  ;  goe,  and  admit  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  head,  principal — 
what  do  you  call  it,  of  your  College  ? '  One  standing  by  said, 
'  President.' 

"  K.  'I  mean  President  of  your  College.  Let  him  know 
that  refuses  it. — Looke  to't ;  they  shall  find  the  weight  of  their 
sovereign's  displeasure.' 

"The  Fellows  went  away,  and,  being  gone  out,  were  re- 
called. 

*Ath.  Oxon.  Life  of  Wood,  i.  275,  od.  1.S48;  Ellis's  Corrcsiiondence,  i. 
337. 


160  TIfK    NKW        EXAMKN. 

"  K.  '  1  liear  you  have  admitted  a  Fellow  of  your  College 
since  you  received  my  inhibition  ;  is  this  true?  Have  you 
admitted  Mr  Iloldeu  Fellow  ? ' 

"Dr  P.  'I  think  he  was  admitted  Fellow,  but  wc  con- 
ceive  ' 

"  The  Doctor  hesitating,  another  said,  '  May  it  please  your 
Majesty,  there  was  no  new  election  or  admission  since  your 
Majesty's  inhibition ;  but  only  the  consummation  of  a  former 
election.  We  always  elect  to  our  year's  jirobation,  then  the 
person  elected  is  received  or  rejected  for  ever.' 

"  K.  '  The  consummation  of  a  former  election  ;  'twas  down- 
right disobedience,  and  'tis  a  fresh  aggravation.  Get  ye  gone 
home,  and  immediately  repair  to  your  chappell  and  elect  the 
Bishop  of  Oxford,  or  else  you  must  expect  to  feel  the  heavy 
hand  of  an  angry  King.' 

"  The  Fellows  offered  their  petition  again  on  their  knees. 

"  K.  '  Gett  ye  gone  ;  I  w^ill  receive  nothing  from — till  you 
have  obeyed  me,  and  elected  the  Bishop  of  Oxford.' 

"  Upon  which  they  went  directly  to  their  chappell,  and  Dr 
Pudsey  proposing  whether  they  would  obey  the  King  and 
elect  the  Bishop,  they  answered,  every  one  in  his  order,  they 
were  all  very  willing  to  obey  his  Majesty  in  all  things  that 
lay  in  their  power  as  any  of  the  rest  of  his  INIajesty's  subjects  ; 
but  the  electing  of  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  being  directly  con- 
trary to  their  statutes,  and  to  the  positive  oath  they  had 
taken,  they  could  not  apprehend  it  in  their  power  to  obey  him 
in  this  matter ;  only  ]\Ir  Dol)son  (who  had  publicly  prayed 
for  Dr  Hough,  the  undoubted  President)  answered  doubtingly, 
he  was  ready  to  obey  in  everything  he  could  ;  and  Mr  Char- 
rocke,  a  Papist,  that  he  was  for  obeying  in  that."  ^ 

At  this  point  begin  the  charges  brought  by  Lord  ^lacaulay 
against  Penn  with  regard  to  this  transaction. 

Penn  had  been  with  the  King  at  Chester,  and  had  accom- 
panied him  to  Oxford.  On  the  same  day  on  which  the  augrj' 
interview  between  the  King  and  the  Fellows  took  place,  Penn 
dined  in  company  with  Creech,  one  of  the  Fellows,  who  took 
the  opportunity  to  have  a  long  conversation  with  him  regard- 
^  State-Paper  Office,  Domestic,  James  II.,  1687,  No.  4. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  161 

ing  the  affairs  of  the  College.  This  appears  from  a  letter 
written  by  Creech  to  Charlett,  another  Fellow,  dated  the  Gth 
of  September.  For  anything  that  appears  to  the  contrary,  this 
was  the  first  occasion  on  which  the  affairs  of  the  College  were 
brought  to  the  notice  of  Penn,  who  subsequently  expressed  to 
Houfrh  his  reeret  that  he  had  not  concerned  himself  about 
them  at  an  earlier  period  ;  ^  and  it  was  unquestionably  at  the 
instance  of  the  Fellows,  and  in  the  character  of  a  mediator 
with  the  King,  that  he  acted  ;  for,  on  the  following  day  (Mon- 
day, the  5th  of  September),  he  went  to  the  College,  and,  after 
hearing  from  the  Fellows  a  statement  of  their  case,  he  wrote 
to  the  King,  remonstrating  with  him  in  bold  language,  and 
representing  the  inconsistency  of  his  conduct  with  the  pro- 
fessions of  his  Declaration  of  Indulgence. 

Lord  Macaulay  delights  to  sneer  at  Penn  as  a  "  courtly 
Quaker."  Who  but  Penn  would  have  been  bold  enough  to 
face  James  in  the  very  moment  of  his  wrath,  and  to  tell  him 
unpalatable  truths  ?  With  regard  to  this  part  of  the  trans- 
action the  evidence  is  abundant  and  unexceptionable.  The 
following  passages,  which  occur  in  letters  addressed  at  the 
time  by  Creech  and  Sykes,  two  of  the  Fellows,  to  Charlett,  who 
was  absent,  are  conclusive.  The  originals  are  preserved  in  Dr 
Ballard's  collection  of  Letters  at  Oxford,  and  they  have  been 
printed  in  the  '  Athenajum  Magazine '  for  April  and  May  1809. 

"  On  ]\Ionday  morning,  Mr  Penn,  the  Quaker  (with  whom 
I  dined  the  day  before,  and  had  a  long  discourse  concerning 
the  College),  wrote  a  letter  to  the  King  in  their  behalf,  inti- 
mating that  such  mandates  were  a  forQe  on  conscience,  and 
not  very  agreeable  to  his  other  gracious  indulgences." — Creech 
to  Charlett,  September  6,  1687. 

"  On  Monday  morning  Mr  Penn  rode  down  to  ^Magdalen 
College  just  before  he  left  this  place,  and  after  some  discourse 
with  some  of  the  Fellows,  wrote  a  short  letter,  directed  to  tlie 
King.  In  it,  in  short,  he  wrote  to  this  purpose,  that  their  case 
was  hard,  and  that  in  their  circumstances  they  could  not  yield 
*  Hough's  Letter,  2>ost. 
L 


162  THK    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

obedience  without  a  breach  of  tlieir  oaths  ;  which  letter  was 
delivered  to  the  King.  I  cannot  learn  whether  he  did  this 
\\\)nn  his  own  free  motion,  or  by  command  or  intercession  of 
any  other." — Sykos  to  Charlett,  September  7,  1G87. 

"  The  discourse  that  Penn  had  with  some  of  the  Fellows  of 
Magdalen  College,  and  the  letter  mentioned  in  my  last,  pro- 
duced a  petition,  which  was  subscribed  by  all  the  Fellows, 
and  given  t<3  my  Lord  Sunderland,  who  promised  to  present  it 
to  the  King." — Same  to  Same,  September  9,  1G87. 

Such  is  the  account  given  by  the  Fellows  of  Magdalen  them- 
selves in  the  freedom  and  confidence  of  correspondence  with 
each  other.  It  is  clear  that  they  regarded  Penn  in  the  light  of 
a  mediator  with  the  King ;  that  it  was  at  their  instance  he 
interfered  in  the  matter  ;  that  his  letter  to  the  King  was  writ- 
ten at  their  request,  and  with  their  full  knowledge,  sanction, 
and  approval ;  and  that  their  petition  was  founded  upon  it. 
Here  the  evidence  as  to  the  transaction  during  Penn's  stay  at 
Oxford  ends.  He  left  the  city  immediately  after  writing  his 
letter  to  the  King. 

We  now  come  to  Lord  Macaula/s  account  of  the  same 
transaction. 

"The  king,  greatly  incensed  and  mortified  by  his  defeat,  quitted  Oxford, 
and  rejoined  the  Queen  at  Bath.  His  obstinacy  andx-iolence  had  brought 
him  into  an  embarrassing  position.  He  had  trusted  too  much  to  the  eflfect 
of  his  frowns  and  angry  .tones,  and  had  rashly  staked,  not  merely  the  credit 
of  his  administration,  but  his  personal  dignity,  on  the  issue  of  the  contest. 
Could  he  yield  to  subjects  whom  ho  had  menaced  ^\^th  raised  voice  and 
fiu'ious  gestures  i  Yet  eould  he  venture  to  eject  in  one  daj'  a  crowd  of 
respectable  clergymen  from  their  homes,  because  they  had  dischai-ged 
Avhat  the  whole  nation  regarded  as  a  sacred  duty.  Perhaps  there  might 
be  an  escape  from  the  dilemma  ;  perhaps  the  College  might  still  bo  terri- 
fied, caressed,  or  bribed  into  submission.  TJie  agency  of  Penn  was  em- 
ployed." ^ 

This  is  the  first  of  the  several  distinct  perversions  of  the 
facts  in  the  narrative  given  by  Lord  Macaulay  of  this  trans- 
action. 

>  Vol.  ii.  298 ;  iii.  29,  edit.  1858. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  163 

It  is  painful  to  be  compelled  to  use  expressions  so  strong, 
but  the  English  language  contains  none  less  severe  by 
which  the  statements  of  Lord  ]\Iacaulay  can  be  truly  de- 
signated. 

The  memorandum  in  the  State-Paper  Office  fixes  the  inter- 
view between  the  King  and  the  Fellows  as  having  taken 
place  on  the  Sunday  before  the  9th  of  September  1G87 — i.e., 
Sunday  the  4th  of  September,  Creech's  letter  to  Charlett  is 
dated  the  Gth  September.  He  speaks  of  Penn's  letter  of 
remonstrance  to  the  King  on  behalf  of  the  Fellows  as  having 
been  written  "  on  Monday  morning."  Sykes,  writing  on  the 
7t]i  of  September,  uses  the  same  expression,  and  says  that  it 
was  written  "  just  before  he  ^  left "  Oxford,  and  "  after  some 
discussion  with  the  Fellows."  This  letter  produced,  he  says, 
the  petition  to  the  King,  which  was  signed  by  all  the  Fellows. 
The  sequence  of  events  is  tlius  proved  to  have  been  as  fol- 
lows :  On  Saturday  the  3d  September,  the  King  came  to 
Oxford ;  ^  on  Sunday  the  4th,  he  sent  for  the  Fellows  of 
Magdalen,  and  had  the  angry  interview  with  them.'^  On  the 
afternoon  of  the  same  day  Creech  dined  with  Penn,  "  had  a 
long  discourse  concerning  the  College,"  and  no  doubt  solicited 
his  good  offices  on  its  behalf.*  On  IMonday  the  5th,^  Penn 
went  to  the  College,  had  a  conversation  with  the  Fellows,  and 
wrote  a  letter  on  their  behalf  to  the  King,  remonstrating  with 
him  on  the  injustice  of  his  proceedings,  and  the  inconsistency 
of  his  conduct  with  his  declaration  for  liberty  of  conscience. 
On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  Penn  left  Oxford.* 

"With  tliese  plain  facts  and  dates — with  this  conclusive  proof 
that  Penn  acted  not  as  the  agent  of  the  King,  but  on  behalf  of 
the  College  and  at  the  request  of  the  Fellows  before  him — 
Lord  Macaulay  yet  ventures  to  assert  that  Penn  was  employed 
by  the  King  to  "  terrify,  caress,  or  bribe  "  the  Fellows  into 
submission,  and  to  represent  this  as  having  taken  place  after 
the  King  had  "  quitted  Oxford  and  rejoined  the  Queen  at 
Bath,"  and  in  consequence  of  the  reilections  induced  by  the 
"  embarrassing  position  "  in  which  he  found  himself.     As  may 

1  /.  c,  Penn.  -  Ante,  159,  =•  ylntc,  159. 

■•  ytntc,  1(51.  »  Anlr,  161.  «  Ante,  1C2. 


164  TIN',    NKW    "  EXAMEN. 

well  1)0  supposed,  Lord  Macaulay  .suppresses  the  fact  of  Penn's 
having  written  his  letter  of  remonstrance  to  the  King,  and  care- 
fully avoids  the  citation  of  any  authority.  The  tiling  chiefly 
to  be  wondered  at  is,  that  he  should  have  ventured  upon  a 
statement  so  easily  and  so  conclusively  shown  to  be  unfounded. 
Lord  Macaulay  then  proceeds : — 

"He"  [i.e.,  Penn]  "had  too  much  good  feeling  to  approve  of  the 
violent  and  unjust  proceedings  of  the  Government,  and  even  ventured  to 
express  part  of  what  lie  thought.  James  as  usual  was  obstinate  in  the 
wrong.  The  courtly  Quaker  therefore  did  his  hest  to  seduce  the  College 
from  the  path  of  right.  He  first  tried  intimidation.  Ruin,  he  said,  im- 
pended over  tlie  society.  The  King  was  highly  incensed.  The  ca.se  might 
be  a  hard  one  ;  most  people  thought  it  so  ;  but  every  child  knew  that  his 
Majesty  loved  to  have  his  own  way,  and  could  not  bear  to  be  thwarted. 
Penn  therefore  exhorted  the  Fellows  not  to  rely  upon  the  goodness  of 
their  cause,  but  to  submit,  or  at  least  to  temporise."  * 

At  this  point  Lord  Macaulay  inserts  his  sole  attempt  to 
produce  evidence  in  support  of  his  charge  against  Penn  ;  and 
of  what  does  it  consist  ?  An  anonymous  letter  !  At  the  latter 
end  of  September  or  beginning  of  October  1687,  Dr  Baily, 
one  of  the  Fellows  of  Magdalen,  received  an  anonymous  letter, 
which,  "  from  its  charitable  purpose,"  ^  he  conjectured  might 
come  from  Penn.  Baily,  as  it  turned  out,  was  wrong  in 
his  conjecture,  for,  upon  inquiry,  Penn  declared  that  it  was 
not  his.^ 

Lord  Macaulay  asserts  that  "  the  evidence  which  proves  the 
letter  to  be  his  is  irresistible."  * 

It  may  with  far  more  truth  be  said  that  there  is  not  one 
particle  of  evidence  to  that  effect.  Lord  Macaulay  asserts  that 
Penn  did  not  deny  that  it  was  liis.  Penn  did  deny  that  it  was 
his,  and  his  denial  is  recorded  by  those  to  whom  it  was  made, 
and  whose  interests  it  concerned.^     This  fact,  though  brought 

1  Vol.  ii.  298,  edit.  1858  ;  iii.  30. 

2  Baily's  Letter,  xii.  State  Trials,  22. 

3  Hunt.  MS.,  fo.  45,  Mag.  Col.,  Oxford;  cited  Dixon's  Life  of  Penn,  edit 
1856,  xxvii. 

*  Edit.  1858,  iii.  30. 

^  "  The  contemporary  account  of  these  proceedings  has  written  in  Hunt's 
hand,  in  the  margin  of  this  letter,  the  words,  '  this  letter  Mr  Penn  disowned.' " 
— Dixon's  Life  of  Penn,  edition  1851,  455,  citing  the  Hunt  MSS.  in  Magdalen 
College.     Hunt  was  one  of  the  Fellows  at  the  time. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  165 

expressly  to  Lord  Macaulay's  knowledge,  he  fails  to  notice,  and 
relies  as  evidence  (!)  on  the  circumstance  that  after  years  had 
elapsed — after  Penn  had  left  England  for  America,  and  returned, 
his  mind  filled  with  political  anxieties,  and  his  heart  torn  by 
domestic  afflictions — he  either  did  not  know  that  this  letter 
had  been  attributed  to  him  in  two  or  three  publications,  or 
did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  contradict  the  misstatement. 
This  Lord  Macaulay  calls  "  irresistible  "  evidence  to  prove  the 
letter  his  ! 

Not  only  is  there  no  evidence  to  show  that  Penn  wrote  this 
letter,  but  it  is  impossible  to  suggest  any  motive  which  could 
induce  him  to  write  anonymously.  If  he  wished  to  produce 
any  effect,  he  was  certainly  more  likely  to  do  so  by  using  liis 
name  than  by  suppressing  it.  Even  supposing  the  letter  were 
written  by  Penn,  it  in  no  way  supports  Lord  Macaulay's 
statement ;  nor  does  it  in  any  way  refer  to  the  inteiTiew  at 
Oxford.i 

After  some  comment  on  the  counsel  which  Penn  certainly 
did  not  give,  Lord  Macaulay  proceeds  : — 

"  Then  Penn  tried  a  f,'entler  tone.  He  had  an  intenaew  with  some  of 
the  Fellows,  and,  after  many  professions  of  sympathy  and  friendship, 
began  to  hint  at  a  compromise.  The  King  could  not  bear  to  he  crossed  ; 
the  College  must  give  way  ;  Parker  must  be  admitted  ;  but  he  was  in 
very  bad  health  ;  all  his  preferments  would  soon  be  vacant.  '  Dr  Hough,' 
said  Penn,  '  may  then  be  Bishop  of  0.\ford.  How  should  you  like  that, 
gentlemen  ? '  Penn  had  passed  his  life  in  declaiming  against  a  hireling 
ministry.  He  held  that  he  was  bound  to  refuse  the  payment  of  tithes, 
and  this  even  when  he  had  bought  land  chargeable  with  tithes,  and  had 
been  allowed  the  value  of  the  tithes  in  the  purchase  money.  According 
to  his  own  principles,  he  would  have  committed  a  great  sin  if  he  had 
interfered  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  a  benefice  on  the  most  honourable 
terms  for  the  most  pious  divine.     Yet  to  such  a  degree  had  his  manners 

*  The  anonymous  letter  will  be  found  printed  at  length  in  the  12tli  vcl.  of 
the  State  Trials,  2L  After  sonic  complimentary  expressions  with  re;,'ard  to 
Dr  15aily,  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  and  an  assurance  of  his  goodwill  to  the 
College,  the  writer  j)rocceds  to  mgc  a  compliance  with  the  wishes  of  the  King, 
or  that  some  expedient  should  be  devised  to  avert  his  anger,  and  avoid  the 
ruin  which  was  impending  over  the  College,  the  overthrow  of  which  "  would 
bo  a  fair  beginning  of  so  nuich  aimed  at  reformation,  first  of  the  University, 
then  of  the  Church,  and  administer  such  an  opportunity  to  the  enemy  as  may 
not  perhaps  occur  in  his  Majesty's  reign." 


1G6  THH    NI':W    "  KXAMKN. 

I)i'i'ii  conuplcd  l>y  evil  ((jmiminiciiliou,  ami  \i\n  iiiiilc-rHtanditig  oljHcurwl 
hy  iiKinlinatu  zwil  for  n  Kin<,'li;  oUjiict,  that  lie  <li(l  not  Hcruple  to  become 
a  brokir  in  simony  of  a  peculiarly  discreditable  kind,  and  to  nue  u 
bishopric  as  a  bait  to  tempt  a  divine  to  ])erjnry.  Hou^'h  replied,  with 
civil  contempt,  that  he  wanted  notliing  from  the  Crown  but  common 
justice.  *  We  stand,'  he  said,  '  upon  our  statutes  and  our  oaths  ;  but  even 
settinj^  aside  our  statutes  and  our  oaths,  we  feel  we  have  a  religion  to 
defend.'  *  The  Papists  have  robbed  us  of  University  College;  they  have 
robbed  us  of  Christ  Church.  The  fight  is  now  for  Magdalen.  They  will 
soon  have  all  the  rest.'  Penn  was  foolish  enough  to  answer  that  he 
really  believed  that  the  Papists  would  now  be  content.  *  Uiuversity,'  he 
said, 'is  a  i)lcasant  College;  Christ  Church  is  a  noble  place;  Magdalen 
is  a  fine  building ;  the  situation  is  convenient  ;  the  walks  by  the  river 
are  deliglitful.  If  the  Roman  Catholics  are  reasonable,  they  will  be  satis- 
lied  with  these.'  This  absurd  avowal  would  alone  have  made  it  impos- 
sible for  Hough  and  his  brethren  to  yield.  The  negotiation  was  broken 
oil',  and  the  King  hastened  to  make  the  disobedient  know,  as  he  had 
threatened,  what  it  was  to  incur  his  displea.sure." ' 

Stripped  of  Lord  Macaulay's  eloquent  vituperation,  the 
substance  of  this  charge  against  Penn  is,  that  he  attempted  to 
bribe  Hough,  by  the  offer  of  a  bishopric,  to  desert  the  cause  of 
the  College,  and  to  betray  those  who  had  intrusted  him  to 
defend  their  rights. 

This  is  a  serious  accusation,  and  deserves  a  careful  examin- 
ation. It  is  necessary,  in  the  first  place,  to  clear  away  a  little 
confusion  occasioned  by  Lord  Macaulay's  avoidance  of  dates, 
and  the  mode  in  which  he  mixes  up  the  conversations  which 
Penn  held  at  different  times  with  the  Fellows  with  the  con- 
tents of  the  anonymous  letter  addressed  to  Baily. 

There  were  two  interviews  between  Penn  and  the  Fellows. 
The  first  took  place  at  IMagdalen  on  the  5th  of  September, 
and  the  second  at  Windsor  on  the  9th  of  October. 

"With  regard  to  the  first,  we  have  tlie  evidence  of  Creech 
and  Sykes,  before  cited,  that  nothing  took  place  that  can  give 
the  slightest  colour  to  Lord  IMacaulay's  charge,  and  that  it 
terminated  in  a  vigorous  remonstrance  addressed  by  Penn  to 
the  King  on  behalf  of  the  College.  We  may  therefore  con- 
fine our  attention  to  the  interview  of  the  9tli  of  October.  At 
this  interview,  besides  Penn  and  Hough,  four  of  the  Fellows 
of  the   College  —  namely,  Hammond,  Hunt,  Craddock,  and 

1  Mac.  edit.  ISoS,  iii.  31-33. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  167 

Young — were  present.  Hough,  on  the  evening  of  the  same 
day,  wrote  an  account  of  what  took  place  to  his  cousin.  This 
letter  is  as  follows : — 

"October  the  9th,  at  night. 

"  Dear  Cousin, —  I  gave  you  a  short  account  of  what 
passed  at  Windsor  this  morning ;  but  having  the  convenience 
of  sending  this  by  Mr  Charlett,  I  fancy  you  will  be  well 
enough  satisfied  to  hear  our  discourse  ^vdth  Mr  Penn  more  at 
large. 

"  He  was,  in  all,  about  three  hours  in  our  company,  and,  at 
his  first  coming  in,  he  began  with  the  great  concern  he  had 
for  the  welfare  of  our  College,  the  many  efi'orts  he  had  made 
to  reconcile  us  to  the  King,  and  the  great  sincerity  of  his  in- 
tentions and  actions ;  that  he  thought  nothing  in  this  world 
was  worth  a  trick,  or  anything  sufficient  to  justify  collusion 
or  deceitful  artifice  ;  and  this  he  insisted  so  long  upon,  that  I 
easily  perceived  he  expected  something  of  a  compliment  by 
way  of  assent  should  be  returned ;  and  therefore,  though  I 
had  much  ado  to  bring  it  out,  I  told  him  that,  whatever  others 
might  conceive  of  him,  he  might  be  assured  we  depended 
upon  his  sincerity,  otherwise  we  would  never  have  given  our- 
selves the  trouble  to  come  thither  to  meet  him. 

"  He  then  gave  an  historical  account  in  short  of  his  ac- 
quaintance with  the  King  ;  assured  us  it  was  not  Popery,  but 
property,  that  first  began  it ;  that,  however  people  were 
pleased  to  call  him  Papist,  he  declared  to  us  that  he  was  a 
dissenting  Protestant ;  that  he  dissented  from  Papists  in 
almost  all  those  points  wherein  we  differ  from  them,  and 
many  wherein  we  and  they  are  agreed. 

"After  this  we  came  to  the  College  again.  He  wished  with 
all  his  heart  he  had  sooner  concerned  liimself  in  it,  but  lie  was 
afraid  that  he  now  came  too  late  ;  however,  he  woidd  use  his 
endeavours,  and  if  they  were  unsuccessful,  we  must  refer  it  to 
want  of  power,  not  of  goodwill  to  serve  us.  I  told  him  1 
thought  the  most  effectual  way  would  be,  to  give  his  Majesty 
a  true  state  of  the  case,  which  I  had  reason  to  suspect  he  had 
never  yet  received  ;  and  therefore  I  offered  him  some  papers 


1G8  TIIK    NEW    "  EXAMEN. 

lor  his  instruction,  whereof  one  was  a  copy  of  our  first  petition 
hefbro  the  election ;  another  was  our  letter  to  the  Duke  of 
Orniond,  and  the  state  of  our  case  ;  a  third  was  that  petition 
which  our  Society  had  offered  to  his  Majesty  here  at  Oxford  ; 
and  a  fourth  was  that  sent  after  the  King  to  Bath.  He 
seemed  to  read  them  very  attentively,  and,  after  many  objec- 
tions (to  which  he  owned  I  gave  him  satisfactory  answers), 
he  promised  faithfully  to  read  every  word  to  the  King,  unless 
he  was  peremptorily  commanded  to  forbear.  He  was  very 
solicitous  to  clear  Lord  Sunderland,  and  throw  the  odium  upon 
the  Chancellor  ;  which  I  think  I  told  you  in  the  morning, 
and  which  makes  me  think  there  is  little  good  to  be  hoped  for 
from  him. 

"  He  said  the  measures  now  resolved  upon  were  such  as  the 
King  thought  would  take  effect ;  but  he  said  he  knew  nothing 
in  particular,  nor  did  he  give  the  least  light,  or  let  fall  any- 
thing whereon  we  might  so  much  as  ground  a  conjecture,  nor 
did  he  so  much  as  hint  at  the  letter  which  was  sent  to  him. 

"  I  thank  God  he  did  not  so  much  as  offer  at  any  proposal 
by  way  of  accommodation,  which  was  the  thing  I  most  dreaded; 
only  once,  upon  the  mention  of  the  Bishop  of  Oxford's  in- 
disposition, he  said,  smiling,  '  If  the  Bishop  of  Oxford  die,  Dr 
Hough  may  be  made  bishop.  What  think  you  of  that,  gentle- 
men ? '  Mr  Craddock  ausw^ered,  they  should  be  heartily  glad 
of  it,  for  it  would  do  very  well  M'ith  the  presidentship.  But  I 
told  him  seriously  '  I  had  no  ambition  above  the  post  in  which 
I  was  ;  and  that  having  never  been  conscious  to  myself  of  any 
disloyalty  towards  my  prince,  I  could  not  but  wonder  what  it 
was  should  make  me  so  much  more  incapable  of  serving  His 
Majesty  in  it  than  those  whom  he  had  been  pleased  to 
recommend.'  He  said,  '  Majesty  did  not  love  to  be  thwarted  ; 
and  after  so  long  a  dispute,  we  could  not  expect  to  be  restored 
to  the  King's  favour  without  making  some  concessions.'  I 
told  him  '  that  we  were  ready  to  make  all  that  were  consistent 
with  honesty  and  conscience.'  But  many  things  might  have 
been  said  upon  that  subject  which  I  did  not  then  think  proper 
to  mention.  '  However,'  said  I,  '  Mr  Penn,  in  this  I  will  be 
plain  with  you ;  we  have  our  statutes  and  oaths  to  justify  us  in 


WILLIAM   PENN.  1G9 

all  we  have  clone  hitlierto  :  but,  setting  this  aside,  we  have  a 
religion  to  defend ;  and  I  suppose  yourself  would  think  us 
knaves  if  we  should  tamely  give  it  up.  The  Papists  have 
already  gotten  Christ  Church  and  University;  the  present 
struggle  is  for  Magdalen ;  and  in  a  short  time,  they  threaten 
us,  they  will  have  the  rest.'  He  replied  with  vehemence, 
'  That  they  shall  never  have,  assure  yourselves.  If  they  once 
proceed  so  far,  they  will  quickly  find  themselves  destitute  of 
their  present  assistance.  For  my  part,  I  have  always  declared 
my  opinion  that  the  preferments  of  the  Church  should  not 
be  put  into  any  other  hands  but  such  as  they  are  at  present 
in  ;  but  I  hope  you  would  not  have  the  two  Universities  siTch 
invincible  bulwarks  for  the  Church  of  England  that  none  but 
they  must  be  capable  of  giving  their  children  a  learned  educa- 
tion. I  suppose  two  or  three  Colleges  will  content  the  Papists. 
Christ  Church  is  a  noble  structure.  University  is  a  pleasant 
place,  and  Magdalen  College  is  a  comely  building.  The  walks 
are  pleasant,  and  it  is  conveniently  situated,  just  at  the 
entrance  of  the  town,'  &c.  &c.  When  I  heard  him  talk  at  this 
rate,  I  concluded  he  was  either  off  his  guard,  or  had  a  mind  to 
be  droll  upon  us.  '  However,'  I  replied,  '  when  they  had  ours, 
they  would  take  the  rest,  as  they  and  the  present  possessors 
could  never  agree.'  In  short,  I  see  it  is  resolved  that  the 
Papists  must  have  our  College ;  and  I  think  all  we  have  to  do 
is  to  let  the  world  see  that  they  take  it  from  us,  and  that  we 
do  not  GIVE  it  up. 

"  I  count  it  great  good  fortune  that  so  many  were  present  at 
this  discourse  (whereof  I  have  not  told  you  a  sixth  part,  but  I 
think  the  most  considerable) ;  for  otherwise  I  doubt  this  last 
passage  would  have  been  suspected,  as  if  to  heighten  their 
courage  through  despair.  But  there  was  not  a  word  said  in 
private  —  Mr  Hammond,  Mr  Hunt,  Mr  Craddock,  and  ^Mr 
Young,  being  present  all  the  time. 

"  Give  my  most  humble  service  to  Sir  Thomas  Powell  and 
Mrs  I'owell. 

"  I  am,  dear  sir,  your  very  affectionate  and  faithful  servant, 

"  J.  H."  1 

'  Life  ol"  lIouj,'h,  25. 


IVO  THE    NEW    "  EXAMEN. 

Here  \vv.  lifivc  the  whole;  of  the  evidence  upon  tlie  subject. 
It  is  runiurkablc  that  the  very  sentence  upon  wliich  Lord 
Macaulay  relies  to  support  the  charge,  contains  the  most  dis- 
tinct negative  of  it  that  language  can  convey — "  I  thank  God 
he  did  not  so  much  as  ofler  at  any  proposal  by  way  of  accom- 
modation, which  was  the  tiling  1  most  dreaded."  Hough's  sus- 
picions were  awake;  he  was  ready  to  take  alarm.  He  feared 
a  compromise,  and  he  rejoiced  that  no  offer  towards  one  was 
made.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that,  though  Hough  and  the 
Fellows  gladly  availed  themselves  of  the  assistance  of  Penn, 
it  was  a  bitter  mortification  to  their  pride  to  be  compelled  to 
seek  the  favour  of  a  Papist  through  the  mediation  of  a  Quaker. 
They  were  all  on  the  watch,  and  had  anything  passed  which 
they  understood  as  an  offer  at  accommodation,  or  still  more, 
if  they  had  suspected  that  any  attempt  was  being  made  by 
Penn  to  seduce  their  chosen  champion,  Hough,  from  the  per- 
formance of  his  duty,  it  would  have  been  found  distinctly 
stated,  and  indignantly  denounced,  in  this  letter.  Under  such 
circumstances,  is  it  possible  to  suppose  that  if  Penn  desired  to 
corrupt  Hough,  he  would  have  offered  the  bribe  in  the  pre- 
sence of  the  very  men  he  wished  him  to  betray  ?  Yet  Hough 
tells  us  that  "  there  was  not  a  word  said  in  private — Mr  Ham- 
mond, Mr  Hunt,  Mr  Craddock,  and  Mr  Young,  being  present 
all  the  time." 

Lord  ]\Iacaulay  argues  that  "  the  latter  part  of  the  sentence  " 
[in  Hough's  letter]  "  limits  the  general  assertion  contained  in 
the  former  part ;"  ^  and  cites  Genesis,  vii.  23  ;  xlvii.  20,  22,  as 
an  authority  to  prove  the  unquestionable  proposition  that  the 
latter  part  of  a  sentence  may  limit  the  former.  But,  applied 
to  the  case  in  question,  Lord  Macaulay's  argument  involves 
the  absurdity  that  Hough  must  be  supposed  to  have  made 
the  most  solemn  and  emphatic  assertion  of  a  fact,  only  for  the 
purpose  of  directly  contradicting  himseK  in  the  next  line — 
to  have  in  the  most  distinct  language  stated  that  "  the  thing 
he  most  dreaded  "  had  not  happened,  only  for  the  purpose  of 
immediately  afterwards  saying  it  had  happened !  To  sup- 
pose that  a   man  of  Hough's   intelligence   should  do   this, 

1  Vol.  iii.  32,  noto,  185S. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  iVl 

shows  to  what  straits  Lord  Macaulay  is  reduced  to  support 
his  statement. 

Nothing  can  be  clearer  than  that  neither  Hough  nor  any  oi" 
those  who  were  present  at  the  interview  ever  suspected  Penn 
to  be  a  "  broker  in  simony,"  or  that  he  was  using  a  "  bishopric 
as  a  bait  to  tempt  a  divine  to  perjury."  It  was  left  for  Lord 
Macaulay,  more  than  a  century  and  a  half  after  the  events 
had  taken  place,  to  discover  his  villany,  when  neither  Hough, 
nor  Hammond,  nor  Hunt,  nor  Craddock,  nor  Young,  who  had 
their  wits  sharpened  by  the  sense  of  wrong,  by  tlieir  aversion 
to  a  Quaker,  and  their  hatred  of  a  Papist — nor  any  other  per- 
son who  had  anything  to  do  with  the  transaction  at  the  time — 
ever  so  much  as  suspected  it. 

It  may  be  admitted  that  it  is  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  at 
this  distance  of  time,  to  say  with  certainty  what  was  the  in- 
tention of  Penn  in  alluding  to  the  possible  death  of  Parker, 
and  consequent  vacancy  of  the  See  of  Oxford.  One  thing, 
however,  is  clear — namely,  that  Hough  never  understood  Penn's 
words  in  the  sense  which  Lord  Macaulay  attributes  to  them. 
Had  he  done  so,  even  supposing  that  policy  had  induced  him 
to  suppress  any  expression  of  indignation  in  the  presence  of 
Penn,  it  is  impossible  to  suppose  that,  in  narrating  the  inter- 
view, he  would  have  been  silent  upon  the  baseness  of  the  at- 
tempt that  had  been  made  to  corrupt  him,  and  upon  his  own 
fidelity  to  the  interests  of  the  College, 

This  alone  is  sufficient  for  the  exculpation  of  Penn,  and  it 
is  unnecessary  to  go  farther  to  clear  him  from  Lord  Macaulay's 
charge.  It  seems,  however,  not  improbable  that  Penn's  de- 
sign might  be  to  test  the  earnestness  of  the  men  he  was  deal- 
ing with  before  imperilling  himself  further  by  his  advocacy  of 
their  cause.  It  is  easy  to  sujjpose  how  difficult  a  part  Penn  had 
to  play,  how  much  skill  and  corn-age  was  required,  aud  how  much 
danger  was  incurred,  in  stepping  between  James  and  the  ob- 
jects of  liis  wrath.  He  might  well  be  indisposed  to  incur 
more  of  the  King's  displeasure,  without  satisfying  himself  that 
he  was  acting  for  men  really  influenced  by  honest  and  con- 
scientious motives.  Hough,  however,  who  has  made  it  per- 
fectly clear  that  Penn  "  did  not  so  much  as  ofl'er  at  any  [tro- 


172  rill']    Ni:W    "  KXAMEN. 

posal  l)y  way  of  accommodation,"  lias  left  this  latter  part  (jf 
the  conversation  involved  in  considerable  obscurity ;  and  as 
Hou^^di's  letter  is  the  only  evidence  on  the  subject,  there  it  must 
be  left.  The  case  against  Penn  as  to  the  transactions  relating  to 
Magdalen  College  may  be  summed  up  in  a  very  few  words : — 

1.  With  regard  to  his  conduct  at  Oxford  in  September,  it  is 
proved  by  the  letters  of  Creech  and  Sykes,  before  cited,  that 
he  interfered  at  the  request  of  the  Fellows,  with  their  know- 
ledge, and  on  their  behalf, 

2.  There  is  no  evidence  that  the  anonymous  letter  to  Baily 
was  written  by  Penn,  and  there  is  evidence  that  it  was  not. 

3.  All  that  remains,  therefore,  is  the  ambiguous  sentence  in 
Hough's  letter.  It  is  on  this  alone  that  Lord  ISracauJay's 
charges  against  Penn  as  to  this  matter  must  rest,  and  against 
it  must  be  set  the  unambiguous  declaration  of  Hough,  that 
Penn  made  no  offer  of  accommodation.  It  is  curious  how  very 
small  a  residuum  of  fact  is  left  after  the  charge  has  been  sub- 
jected to  examination.  But  such  is  history  in  the  hands  of 
Lord  Macaulay ! 

V. 

We  shall  now  have  to  regard  Penn  from  a  different  point  of 
view. 

Hitherto  he  has  appeared  as  the  personal  friend  of  the  King. 
Whilst  peers  and  privy  councillors  stood  in  the  anteroom,  he 
was  admitted  to  the  privacy  of  the  royal  closet.  He  was  the 
messenger  of  pardon  and  mercy ;  his  word  opened  the  prison 
doors ;  his  abode  was  thronged  by  suppliants ;  aud  his  steps 
were  followed  by  blessings.  He  had  obtained  for  Locke  ("  the 
most  illustrious  and  most  grossly  injured  man  amongst  the 
British  exiles  "  ^)  permission  to  return  to  his  native  laud,-  and 
even  had  influence  sufhcient  to  recall  from  banishment  a 
man  so  obnoxious  as  Trenchard.^  He  had  established  a 
Commonwealth   across  the  Atlantic,  on  the  basis  of  perfect 

^  Mac,  ii.  122,  1858. 

'  Dixon's  Life  of  Penn,  292,  edit.  1851,  and  the  authorities  there  cited. 

3  Ibid.,  322.    Mac,  iv.  372  ;  Lawtou's  Memoir  ;  Jauney's  Life  of  Penn,  301. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  173 

religious  freedom,  and  had  urged  the  adoption  of  the  same 
principle  at  home.  He  had  remonstrated  against  the  uncon- 
stitutional powers  assumed  by  the  King  in  his  declaration  for 
freedom  of  conscience.  He  had  opposed  the  proceedings 
against  the  bishops,  and  urged  the  King  to  avail  himself  of 
the  occasion  of  the  birth  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  to  set  them  at 
liberty.^  His  was  the  only  tongue  bold  enough  to  tell  unwel- 
come truths  to  his  sovereign ;  and  it  is  some  satisfaction  to 
find,  that  among  the  many  dark  blots  which  stain  the  charac- 
ter of  James,  he  appears  never  to  have  visited  this  brave  and 
faithful  servant  with  his  displeasure.  Such  was  the  position 
of  William  Penn  at  the  close  of  the  year  1688.  But  the  day 
was  rapidly  approaching  when  all  this  was  to  change.  For  the 
next  three  years  he  was  to  find  himself  the  object  of  the  most 
unrelenting  and  vexatious  persecution. 

On  the  morning  of  the  11th  December  1688,  the  King  fled 
from  London.^ 

Penn,  walking  in  Whitehall,  was  immediately  arrested,  and 
brought  before  the  Lords  of  the  Council,  who  were  then  sit- 
ting ;  ^  but  no  charge  was  made,  and  he  was  set  at  liberty  on 
giving  bail  to  the  amount  of  £0000  for  his  appearance.  He 
was  not,  however,  allowed  to  remain  long  at  peace ;  for,  on  the 
27th  of  February  following,  a  warrant  was  issued  for  his 
arrest.*  Penn  immediately  wrote  to  Lord  Shrewsbury  ^  as 
follows : — 

"  I  thought  it  would  look  rather  foolish  than  innocent  to 
take  any  notice  of  popular  fame ;  but  so  soon  as  I  could  inform 
myself  that  a  warrant  was  out  against  me  (which  I  knew  not 
till  this  morning),  it  seemed  to  me  a  respect  due  to  the  Govern- 
ment, as  well  as  a  justice  to  myself,  to  make  this  address,  tliat 
so  my  silence  miglit  neither  look  like  fear  nor  contempt ;  for 
as  my  conscience  forbids  the  one,  the  sense  I  have  of  my  duty 
will  not  let  me  be  guilty  of  the  other. 

'  See  Lawton'.s  Memoir;  Janney's  Life  of  Penn,  307. 

2  Ellis  Cor.,  ii.  345.  ^  Besse,  139;  Ellis  Cor.  ii.  356,  Dec.  13,  1GS8. 

*  Pri.  Co.  Reg.,  Feb.  27,  1G88-9. 

''  Penn  to  Lord  Shrewsbury,  Mar.  (1st  mo.)  1(389  ;  Janney's  Life  of  Penn, 
353. 


174  TIIK    NF'-W    "  HXAMKN. 

"  That  which  I  have  hunilily  to  ofler  is  this  :  I  do  pro- 
fess soleiunly,  in  tlic  presence  of  God,  I  have  no  hand  or 
share  in  any  conspiracy  against  the  King  or  Government,  nor 
do  I  know  any  tliat  have  ;  and  this  I  can  afhrm  without 
directing  my  intention  equivocally.  And  though  I  liave  the 
unliappiness  of  Iteing  very  much  misunderstood  in  my  prin- 
ciples and  inclinations  by  some  people,  I  thought  I  had  some 
reason  to  hope  this  King  would  not  easily  take  me  for  a 
plotter,  to  whom  the  last  Government  always  thought  me  too 
partial.  In  the  next  place,  as  I  have  behaved  myself  peace- 
ably, I  intend,  by  the  help  of  God,  to  continue  to  live  so  ;  but 
being  already  under  an  excessive  bail  (when  no  order  or 
matter  appeared  against  me),  and  having,  as  is  well  known  to 
divers  persons  of  good  credit,  affairs  of  great  importance  to 
me  and  my  family  now  in  hand,  that  require  to  be  despatched 
for  America,  I  hope  it  will  not  be  thought  a  crime  that  I  do  not 
yield  up  myself  an  unbailable  prisoner  ;  and  pray  the  King 
will  please  to  give  me  leave  to  continue  to  follow  my  concerns 
at  my  house  in  the  country ;  which  favour,  as  I  seek  it  by  the 
Lord  Shrewsbury's  mediation,  so  I  shall  take  care  to  use  it 
with  discretion  and  thankfulness. 

"  I  am  his  affectionate  friend  to  serve  hira, 

"AVm.  Penn." 

"We  now  come  to  Lord  Macaulay's  Fifth  charge.  It  is  con- 
tained in  the  following  passage  : — 

"  The  conduct  of  Penn  was  scarcely  less  scandalous  ;  he  was  a  zealous 
and  busy  Jacobite  ;  and  his  new  way  of  lite  was  even  more  unfavourable 
than  his  late  way  of  life  had  been  to  moral  purity.  It  was  hai'dly  pos- 
sible to  be  at  once  a  consistent  Quaker  and  a  couitier  ;  but  it  was  utterly 
impossible  to  be  at  once  a  consistent  Quaker  and  a  conspirator.  It  is 
melancholy  to  relate  that  Penn,  while  professing  to  consider  even  defen- 
sive war  as  sinful,  did  everything  in  his  power  to  bring  a  foreign  army 
into  the  heart  of  his  own  country.  He  wrote  to  infomi  James  that  the 
adherents  of  the  Prince  of  Orange  dreaded  nothing  so  much  as  an  appeal 
to  the  sword  ;  and  that  if  England  were  now  invaded  from  France  or 
from  Ireland,  the  number  of  royalists  would  appear  to  be  greater  than 
ever.  Avaux  thought  this  letter  so  important  that  he  sent  a  translation 
of  it  to  Louis.  A  good  effect,  the  shrewd  ambiissador  wrote,  had  been 
produced  by  this  and  similar  communications  on  the  mind  of  King  James  : 


WILLIAM   PENN.  l75 

his  Majesty  was  at  last  convinced  that  he  could  recover  his  dominions 
only  sword  in  hand.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  it  should  have  been  re- 
served for  the  great  preacher  of  peace  to  produce  this  conviction  in  the 
mind  of  the  old  tyrant."  ^ 

This  virulent  attack  Lord  jNIacaulay  attempts  to  justify  by 
quoting  a  letter  written  by  Avaux  to  Louis  on  the  5th  of  June 
1689.  It  is  the  sole  authority  for  the  passage.  Lord  Mac- 
aulay  observes  that,  "of  the  difference  between  right  and 
wrong,  Avaux  had  no  more  notion  than  a  brute."  -  liut  even 
this  very  questionable  witness  does  not  say  what  Lord  Mac- 
aulay  puts  into  his  mouth,  nor  anything  approaching  it. 

Tlie  licence  of  translation  which  Lord  Macaulay  allows 
himself  is  something  marvellous.^ 

Avaux,  writing  on  the  5th  of  June  1689,  from  Dublin,  where 
James  was  then  holding  his  Court,  informs  Louis  that  import- 
ant news  had  arrived  from  England  and  Scotland.  He  then 
proceeds :  "  Le  commencement  des  nouvelles  datees  d'Angle- 
terre  est  la  copie  d'une  lettre  de  M.  Pen  que  J'ay  veue  on 
original."  Avaux,  be  it  observed,  says  not  one  word  from 
which  it  can  be  inferred  that  Penn's  letter  was  addressed  to 
James  :  it  might  or  might  not  be  addressed  to  him.  "We  now 
come  to  the  "Memoire"  which  accompanied  the  letter  of 
Avaux.  It  begins  with  the  following  words,  which  Lord 
Macaulay  asserts  "  must  have  been  part  of  Penn's  letter  : " '' 
"  Le  Prince  d'Orange  commence  d'etre  fort  degoutte  de  I'hum- 
eur  des  Anglais ;  et  la  face  des  choses  change  bien  viste  selon 
la  nature  des  insulaires ;  et  sa  sante  est  fort  mauvaise."  Here 
ends  everything  which,  on  the  widest  construction,  can  be 

>  Mac.  ii.  587 ;  v.  218  ;  1858.  2  Vol.  iii.  168. 

^  An  amusing  instance  is  to  be  found,  p.  27,  vol,  iii.,  edition  1858.  Barilloii, 
writing  on  September  6-16,  1687,  says,  referring  to  what  was  taking  place  in 
Ireland,  "  II  reste  encore  beaucoup  do  choses  h,  faire  en  ce  pays  \bk  jtour  rdircr 
Ics  hicns  injustinenl  6t6s  aux  Catholiques;  mais  cclla  ne  pent  s'cxecuter  (|u'avec 
lo  terns  et  dans  I'assemblde  d'un  parlement  en  Irelande."  Lord  ilaeaiilay 
parapliraaes  tlii.s  p.assage  as  follows  : — "The  English  colonists  liad  already  been 
stripped  of  all  political  power.  Ndthing  remained  but  to  strip  them  of  their 
property  ;  and  this  last  outrage  was  deferred  oidy  until  the  co-operation  of  an 
Irisli  Parliament  sliould  have  been  secured."  So  that,  in  Lord  Macaulay's 
opinion,  restoring  to  a  Catholic  what  ho  liad  been  unjustly  robbed  of,  neces- 
.sarily  involves  the  stripping  a  rmtcstant  of  liis  property  ! 

•»  Vol.  iii.  587  ;  v.  218  ;  1858. 


I7f)  THE    NICW    "  KXAMEN." 

attributed  to  rcnn.'  Tho  remainder  of  the  paper  relates  to 
affiiirs  in  Scotland  (where  Dundee  was  in  arms  at  the  head  of 
the  clans  ^,  the  state  of  the  navy  and  mercantile  marine,  and 
other  matters,  with  which  Penn  had  notliing  whatever  to  do. 
But  can  even  these  words  be,  as  Lord  ^Macaulay  asserts,  "  part 
of  Penn's  letter?"  Did  one  Englishman,  writing  to  another, 
ever  use  such  a  phrase  as  "  selon  la  nature  des  insulaires,"  or 
any  equivalent  for  it  ?  At  most  it  is  but  the  representation  of 
Avaux  (who  was  employing  every  argument  in  his  power  to 
induce  Louis  to  send  men  and  money  to  Ireland)  of  the  sub- 
stance of  Penn's  communication.  But  assume  that  every 
word  of  the  statement  that  is  made  by  Avaux  is  true — admit 
that  Penn  wrote  to  some  one  that  the  Prince  of  Orange  was 
disgusted  with  the  temper  of  the  English — that  the  appearance 
of  affairs  was  changing,  and  that  his  health  was  bad :  every 
word  of  this  was  true — every  word  was  notorious ;  and  why 
should  not  Penn  write  it  ?  What  is  there  "  scandalous  "  or 
"  morally  impure  "  ?  What  is  there  to  justify  the  charge  of 
being  a  "  conspirator,"  or  of  doing  "  everything  in  his  power 
to  bring  a  foreign  army  into  the  heart  of  his  country "  ? 
Why  should  Penn  be  held  up  to  execration  for  his  attachment 
to  James,  when  we  regard  Sarsfield  as  a  hero,  and  look  with 
admiration  on  the  faithful  and  chivalrous  Dundee  ?  But  the 
fact  is,  that  it  was  not  Penn,  but  Dundee,  that  was  writing  for 
troops.  At  this  very  time,  in  the  months  of  May  and  June 
1689,  we  find,  from  Lord  Macaulay's  own  account,  that  Dundee 
■was  sending  to  Dublin  "  a  succession  of  letters  earnestly  im- 
ploring assistance.  If  sis  thousand,  four  thousand,  three 
thousand  regular  soldiers  were  now  sent  to  Lochaber,  he 
trusted  that  his  Majesty  would  soon  hold  a  Court  at  Holy- 
rood."^  It  is  in  reference  to  this  circumstance  that  Avaux 
says,  in  this  same  letter,  to  Louis :  "  Le  Eoy  d'Angleterre  a 
resolu  de  faire  partir  incessamment  un  secour  de  niille  ou 
douze  cens  hommes  qu'il  a  dessein  il  y  a  d(5jii  quelque  temps 
d'envoyer  en  Ecosse."*     This  Lord  Macaulay  omits.     It  was 

^  The  Letter  of  Avaux,  and  the  "M^nioire"  accompanying  it,  are  given  at 
length  in  Dixon's  Life  of  Penn,  ed.  1856,  p.  xxxviii. 

'  Mac,  iii.  342.  ^  Mac,  iii.  342.  *  Letter  of  Avaux  to  Louis. 


WILLIAM   PENN.  lV7 

Dundee,  not  Penn,  tliat  was  "  doing  everything  in  his  power 
to  bring  a  foreign  army  in  the  heart  of  his  country."  It  was 
by  Dundee,  not  by  Penn,  that  James  was  "  convinced  that  lie 
could  recover  his  dominions  only  sword  in  hand."  It  was  not, 
as  Lord  JNIacaulay  asserts,  "  reserved  for  the  gi-eat  Preacher  of 
Peace,"  but  for  the  terrible  Graham  of  Claverhouse,  "  to  pro- 
duce this  conviction  on  the  mind  of  the  old  Tyrant."  Nothing 
is  so  easy  for  an  historian  as  to  attribute  to  one  man  the  acts 
and  words  of  another — to  put  the  counsels  of  Dundee  into  the 
mouth  of  Penn — to  omit  the  document  he  refers  to — and  to 
leave  his  readers  to  accept  the  narrative  without  examination 
of  the  authorities — to  receive  his  eloquent  fiction  as  history — 
and  to  content  themselves  with  marvelling  at  the  inconsist- 
ency, and  pitying  the  weakness,  of  human  nature.^ 


VI. 

The  Sixth  charge  is  contained  in  the  following  passage  :  - — 

"  Among  the  letters  which  the  Government  had  intercepted  was  one 
from  James  to  Penn.  That  letter,  indeed,  was  not  legal  evidence  to  prove 
tliat  the  person  to  whom  it  was  addressed  had  been  guilty  of  high  treason  ; 
but  it  raised  su-s^picions,  which  are  now  known  to  have  been  well  founded. 
Penn  was  broiiglit  before  the  Privy  Council  and  interrogated.  He  said, 
very  truly,  that  he  could  not  prevent  peoi)le  from  writing  to  him,  and 
that  he  was  not  accountable  for  what  they  might  write  to  him.  He  ac- 
knowledged that  he  was  bound  to  the  late  King  by  ties  of  gratitude  and 
affection,  which  no  change  of  fortune  could  dissolve.  '  I  should  be  glad 
to  do  him  any  service  in  his  private  affairs  ;  but  I  owe  a  sacred  duty  to 
my  country,  and  therefore  I  never  was  so  wicked  as  ever  to  think  of  en- 
deavouring to  bring  him  l)ack.'     This  was  a  falsehood,  and  William  was 

1  After  all,  it  is,  to  say  the  least,  doubtful  whether  this  letter  was  written 
by  William  Penn  at  all.  It  appears  more  probable  that  the  writer  was  Nevill 
Penn,  "one  of  the  most  adroit  and  resolute  agents  of  the  exiled  family."* 
His  name  is  spelt  inilill'erently  Penn,  Pain,  and  Payne.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered that  the  whole  charge  rests  on  a  Frenchman's  orthogra]>liy  of  an  English 
surname.  Nevill  Penn  was  the  unhappy  man  who  was  so  barbarously  tortured 
in  Scotland  the  following  year.  Sec  Appendix  IV.,  Letter  of  the  Earl  of 
Craufurd. 

^Macaulay,  iii.  599;  v.  231;  1858. 

•  Mac,  iii.  CS2. 

M 


178  TITK    NKW    "  EX  AMEN." 

prolmbly  aware  tliat  it  was  ho.  lie  wa«  unwilling,  however,  to  deal 
harshly  with  a  man  who  liail  many  titles  to  respect,  and  who  was  not 
likely  to  he  a  very  rormiilalile  plotter.  He  therefore  dechired  himself 
satislied,  and  jiroposed  to  discharge  the  prisoner.  Some  of  the  Privy  Coun- 
cillors, however,  remonstrated,  and  Penn  was  re(juired  to  j^ive  hail." 

Lord  ]\Tacaulay  cites  "  Gerard  Croese  "  as  his  authority,  but 
without  giving  page  or  date,  or  any  guide  whatever  to  the  part 
of  Croese,  on  which  he  relies.  The  only  passage  which  I  have 
been  able  to  discover  in  Croese  bearing  any  resemblance  to 
Lord  Macaulay's  naiTative,  is  the  following  : — 

"  While  public  affairs  were  thus  changed,  W.  Penn  was  not 
so  regarded  and  respected  by  King  and  Court  as  he  was  for- 
merly by  King  James,  partly  because  of  his  intimacy  witli 
King  James,  and  partly  for  adhering  to  his  old  opinion  con- 
cerning the  Oath  of  Fidelity,  which  was  now  mitigated,  but 
not  abrogated.  Besides  this,  it  was  suspected  that  Penn  cor- 
responded with  the  late  King,  now  lurking  in  France  under 
the  umbrage  and  protection  of  the  French  King,  an  enemy 
justly  equally  odious  to  the  British  King  and  the  United  Pro- 
vinces, 'twixt  whom  there  was  now  an  inveterate  war.  Tliis 
suspicion  was  followed,  and  also  increased,  by  a  letter  inter- 
cepted from  King  James  to  Penn,  desiring  Penn  to  come  to 
his  assistance  in  the  present  state  and  condition  he  was  in, 
and  express  the  resentments  of  his  favour  and  benevolence. 
Upon  this,  Penn,  being  cited  to  appear,  was  asked  why  King 
James  wrote  unto  him.  He  answered,  he  could  not  hinder 
such  a  thing.  Being  further  questioned  what  resentments 
there  were  which  the  late  King  seemed  to  desire  of  him,  he 
answered,  he  knew  not ;  but  said  he  supposed  King  James 
would  have  him  to  endeavour  his  restitution,  and  that,  though 
he  could  not  decline  the  suspicion,  yet  he  could  avoid  the  guilt. 
And  since  he  had  loved  King  James  in  his  prosperity,  he  should 
not  hate  him  in  his  adversity ;  yea,  he  loved  him  as  yet  for 
many  favours  he  had  conferred  on  him,  though  he  would  not 
join  with  him  in  what  concerned  the  state  of  the  kingdom.  He 
owned  he  had  been  much  obliged  to  King  James,  and  that  he 
would  reward  his  kindness  by  any  private  office  as  far  as  he 
could,  observing  inviolably  and  entirely  that  duty  to  the  pub- 


WILLIAM   PENN.  179 

lick  and  Government  which  was  equally  incumbent  on  all  sub- 
jects, and  therefore  that  he  had  never  the  vanity  to  think  of 
endeavouring  to  restore  him  that  crown  which  was  fallen  from 
his  head ;  so  that  nothing  in  that  letter  could  at  all  serve  to 
fix  guilt  upon  him,"  ^ 

It  will  be  observed  that  the  passage  in  Croese  materially 
differs  from  that  in  Lord  jMacaulay.  It  was  probably  cited 
from  memory,  and  it  would  appear  that  the  narrative  of  Clark- 
son,2  who  seems  to  have  derived  his  information  from  Besse,^ 
was  what  was  present  to  Lord  ]\Iacaulay's  mind.  But  it  is 
unnecessary  to  go  at  length  into  this  inquiry,  for  a  little  atten- 
tion to  dates  and  unquestionable  documents  will  show  that, 
though  this  interview  between  the  King  and  Penn  has  been 
repeated  by  all  the  biogi-aphers  of  Penn,  from  Besse  downwards, 
it  is  altogether  apocryphal. 

Lord  Macaulay  places  this  supposed  interview  in  the  spring 
or  summer  of  1690,  immediately  before  the  King's  departure 
for  Ireland,  which  took  place  on  the  4th  of  June.'*  Clarkson 
also  places  it  amongst  the  events  of  that  year.^  ]\Ir  DLxon 
states  that  it  occurred  "  in  the  spring  of  1690,  before  the  King 
set  out  for  Ireland."*"'  Janney  says  it  took  place  in  1690.'^ 
Besse  also  assigns  the  same  date  to  this  very  remarkable  inter- 
view.^ Thus  we  find  all  who  narrate  this  conversation  be- 
tween the  King  and  Penn  agree  as  to  the  time  when  it  took 
place.  We  shall  find,  however,  evidence  of  the  strongest  kind 
to  show  that  it  could  not  have  occurred  as  alleged.  Burnet, 
of  whose  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  transactions  of  that 
period  there  can  be  no  more  doubt  than  of  the  eagerness  with 
which  he  would  have  recorded  any  circumstance  derogatory  to 
Penn,  is  not  only  silent,  but  has  this  remarkable  passage : — 

1  Croese,  book  ii.  112— oUl  tmnslation  ;  London,  1696.  Croeso,  it  will  be 
observed,  is  .silent  as  to  William  having'  had  any  part  iu  this  transaction.  He 
ajuiears  to  have  taken  his  account  from  a  monthly  newspajKjr  published  at  the 
Hague,  which  contains  a  similar  narrative.  Sec  '  Tiie  General  History  of 
Europe,  contained  in  the  monthly  mercuries,  &c.,  from  the  original,  published 
at  the  Hague.' 

2  Vol.  ii.  59.  »  Vol.  i.  110. 
•*  Evelyn's  Diary,  iii.  294  ;  Mac,  iii.  600  ;  Gazette,  .Tune  4. 

^  Vol.  ii.  60.       «  Life  of  Penn,  293,  edit,  of  1856.        '  p.  359.        s  p   j^q 


180  Till-:    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

"  Many  discoveries  were  made  of  the  practices  from  St  Ger- 
main's and  Ireland  :  but  few  were  taken  up  upon  them ;  and 
tliose  who  were  too  inconsiderable  to  know  more  than  that 
many  were  provided  with  arms  and  ammunition,  and  that  a 
method  was  projected  for  bringing  men  together  upon  a  call.^ 
It  is  impossil)le  that  Burnet  could  have  written  thus,  had  a 
man  so  important  as  Penn  been  in  custody  and  examined  by 
the  King  in  person.  But  there  is  even  stronger  evidence  than 
this.  The  registers  of  the  Privy  Council  show  that  the  pro- 
clamation for  the  arrest  of  Penn  was  not  issued  until  the  24th 
of  June,^  nearly  three  weeks  after  the  King  had  left  London. 
After  a  careful  searcli,  I  have  not  been  able  to  discover  any 
mention  whatever  of  Penn  in  those  registers  during  any  earlier 
part  of  the  year  1090.  The  proclamation  was  not  published 
in  the  Gazette  until  the  17th  of  July ;  and  on  the  31st  of  the 
same  month  Penn  wrote  as  follows  to  the  Earl  of  Notting- 
ham :  3 — 

"  My  Noble  Friend, — As  soon  as  I  heard  my  name  was  in 
the  proclamation,  I  offered  to  surrender  myself,  with  those  re- 
gards to  a  broken  health  which  I  owe  to  myself  and  my  family; 
for  it  is  now  six  weeks  that  I  have  laboured  under  the  effect 
of  a  surfeit  and  relapse,  which  was  long  before  I  knew  of  this 
mark  of  the  Government's  displeasure.  It  is  not  three  days 
ago  that  I  was  fitter  for  a  bed  than  a  surrender  and  a  prison. 
I  shall  not  take  up  time  about  the  hardships  I  am  under.  .  .  . 
But  since  the  Government  does  not  think  fit  to  trust  me,  I 
shall  trust  it,  and  submit  my  conveniency  to  the  State's 
security  and  satisfaction.  And  therefore  I  humbly  beg  to 
know  when  and  where  I  shall  wait  upon  thee. — Thy  faithful 
friend,  "NVm.  Penn." 

It  is  clear,  therefore,  that  Penn  was  not  in  custody  until 
August.  On  the  15th  of  that  month  he  was  brought  up  and 
discharged  from  custody.* 

»  Vol.  iv,  83,  1690.  -  Privy  Council  Reg.,  2ith  Juue  1G90. 

^  Cited  in  Dixon's  Life  of  Penn,  1851,  344. 
•»  Privy  Council  Reg.,  15th  August  1690. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  181 

William,  as  we  have  seen,  went  to  Ireland  in  June.  He  did 
not  return  to  England  until  September.^ 

It  is  unnecessary,  therefore,  to  inquire  how  far  the  disgusting 
charge  of  falsehood  (a  charge  which  Lord  Macaulay  appears  to 
have  a  remarkable  aptitude  for  bringing)  is  supported  by  his 
narrative  of  a  conversation  which  certainly  did  not  take  place." 


VII.   AND    VIII. 

We  now  come  to  the  transactions  of  the  year  1691. 

At  the  commencement  of  that  year.  Lord  Preston  and  Ash- 
ton  were  tried  and  convicted  for  their  well-known  plot.  Ash- 
ton  was  executed.  Preston,  urged  by  the  terrors  of  death,  and 
allured  by  the  hopes  of  pardon,  was  induced  to  make  a  confes- 
sion. Amongst  others,  he  named  Penn  as  having  been  con- 
cerned in  his  plot.  There  is  not  one  particle  of  evidence  to 
support  this  charge ;  but  Lord  Macaulay,  without  pausing  to 
consider  how  infamous  was  the  character  of  Preston,  or  the 
grave  doubt  thrown  upon  his  confession  by  the  mode  in  wliich 
it  was  obtained,  assumes  that  it  was  true. 

A  proclamation  was  issued  for  the  arrest  of  Penn,  the  Bishop 

'  Mac.  iii.  677.  "On  the  6th  of  September,  the  King,  after  a  voyage  of 
twenty-four  hours,  landed  at  Bristol;  thence  he  travelled  to  London,  stopping 
at  the  mansions  of  some  great  lords.  William  arrived  at  Kensington  about 
4  P.M.  on  the  10th  of  September." — See  Gazette. 

2  But  though  this  has  become  a  needless  inquiry,  it  is  interesting  to  compare 
the  different  views  taken  by  Lord  JIacaulay  and  by  Mr  Clarkson  of  the  supposed 
conduct  of  Penn  and  the  imaginary  thoughts  of  William. 

Clark.son.  Macaulay. 

"This  defence,  which  was  at  once  "This  was  a  falsehood,  and  Wil- 

manly,   open,   and   explicit,   had   its  liam  was  probably  aware  that  it  was 

weight  with  the  King,  so  that  he  felt  so.      Ho  was,  however,  unwilling  to 

himself  inclined  to  dismiss  him  as  an  deal   harshly  with   a   man    who   had 

innocent  person  ;    but   some   of  the  many  titles  to  respect,  and  who  was 

Council    interfering,    ho,    to    please  not   likely  to   be   a   verj-  formidablo 

them,   ordered   him   to   give   bail  to  plotter.      He  therefore  declared  him- 

appear    at    the    next    Trinity   term.  self  sati."- tied,  and  proposed  to  discharge 

After  this,   he  was  permitted   to  go  the  prisoner.    Sonieof  the  I'rivy  Coun- 

at   large    as    heretofore."  —  Vol.    ii.  cillors,    however,    remonstrated,    and 

60.  Penn  was   re([uired  to  give  bail." — 

Vol.  iii.  599. 


182  THK    NKW    "  EXAMEN. 

of  Ely,  and  others.^  Lord  Macaulay,  again  following  the  errors 
of  the  biographers  of  Penn,  introduces  a  picturesque  description 
of  the  attendance  of  Penn  at  the  funeral  of  George  Fox — of  liis 
conspicuous  "  appearance  among  the  disciples  who  committed 
the  venerable  coipse  to  the  earth  ;  " — tells  how,  when  the  cere- 
mony was  scarcely  finished,  he  heard  that  warrants  were  out 
against  him — "how  he  instantly  took  flight;" — how  "he  lay 
hid  in  London  during  some  months,"  and  then  "  stole  down  to 
the  coast  of  Sussex,  "  and  made  his  escape  to  France/"'^  There 
is  about  as  much  foundation  for  this  stirring  narrative  as  for 
the  incidents  of  an  Adelphi  melodrama.^ 

1  Tr.  Co.  Reg.,  Feb.  5,  1690-91.  =  Vol.  iv.  30,  31  ;  vi.  31,  32  ;  1858. 

^  Lord  Macaulaj''s  taste  for  the  picturesque  occasionally  leads  him  into  errors, 
which,  if  committed  by  another,  he  might  designate  by  a  more  severe  and 
shorter  word.  Schomberg  fell  at  the  Boyne,  and  Lord  Macaulay  tlius  records 
the  honours  paid  to  his  corpse  : — 

"The  loss  of  the  conquerors  did  not  exceed  500  men;  but  amongst  them 
was  the  first  captain  in  Europe.  To  his  corpse  every  honour  was  paid.  The 
only  cemetery  in  which  so  illustrious  a  warrior,  slain  in  arms  for  the  liberties 
and  religion  of  England,  could  properly  bo  laid,  was  that  venerable  abbey,  hal- 
lowed by  the  dust  of  many  generations  of  princes,  heroes,  and  poets.  It  was 
announced  that  the  brave  veteran  sliould  have  a  public  fimeral  at  Westminster. 
In  the  mean  time  his  corpse  was  embalmed  with  such  skill  as  could  be  found 
in  the  camp,  and  was  deposited  in  a  leaden  coffin."  * 

The  fact  is,  that  Schomberg  was  buried,  not  in  Westminster  Abbey,  but  in 
St  Patrick's  Cathedral,  Dublin.  So  far  from  "  every  honour  being  paid  to  liis 
corpse,"  William  left  the  grave  of  "the  first  captain  in  Europe"  unmarked 
even  by  a  single  line,  and  so  it  remained  for  forty  years. 

In  1728,  Swift,  writing  to  Lord  Carteret,  says  :  "  The  great  Duke  of  Schom- 
berg is  buried  under  the  altar  in  my  cathedral.  ...  I  desire  you  will  tell 
Lord  F.,  that  if  he  will  not  send  fifty  pounds  to  make  a  monument  for  the  old 
Duke,  I  and  the  Chapter  will  erect  a  small  one  ourselves  for  ten  pounds  ; 
whereon  it  shall  be  expressed  that  the  posterity  of  the  Duke,  naming  particu- 
larly Lady  Holderuess  and  Mr  Mildmay,  not  having  the  generosity  to  erect  a 
monument,  we  have  done  it  of  ourselves  ;  and  if  for  an  excuse  they  pretend 
they  will  send  for  his  body,  let  them  know  it  is  mine  ;  and  rather  than  send 
it,  I  will  take  up  the  bones  and  make  of  it  a  skeleton,  and  put  it  in  my  Regis- 
try Office  to  be  a  memorial  of  their  baseness  to  all  posterit5\"  t 

Swift's  application  was  in  vain,  and  in  1731  he  carried  part  of  his  threat  into 
execution,  and  recorded  the  filial  impiety  of  the  posterity  of  the  great  Duke  on 
a  small  momiment,+  which  he  placed  over  his  grave,  not  far  from  that  on  which 
a  few  years  later  he  inscribed  the  burning  words  that  tell  of  the  indignation  at 
the  baseness  and  ingratitude  of  mankind  which  consimied  his  own  heart. 

Had  the  fortune  of  the  war  been  different — had  James  regained  his  thi-one, 

-  Mac,  iii.  63S,  1855  ;  v.  271,  1S58. 
+  Swift  to  Lord  Carteret,  May  10,  1728— vol.  xvi.  liL\  {  Swift's  Works,  vii.  382. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  183 

Fox  was  buried  on  the  16th  of  January.^  Penn,  giving  au 
account  of  the  funeral  some  months  after,  describes  the  large 
concourse  of  people  who  were  present,  says  that  he  felt  himself 
easy  and  under  no  alarm,  and  "  was  never  more  public  than 
that  day."  He  appears  when  he  wrote  this  letter  to  have  been 
under  the  impression  that  the  warrants  had  been  issued  earlier 
than  they  really  were,  and  to  have  supposed  that  he  had  "  very 
providentially"  escaped  a  danger  of  which  he  had  been  uncon- 
scious, and  to  which  in  reality  he  had  never  been  exposed.^ 
The  proclamation  for  the  arrest  of  Penn  was  not  issued  until 
the  5th  February,^  He  did  not  take  to  flight;  he  never  "stole 
down  to  the  coast  of  Sussex,"  nor  did  he  "  escape  to  France." 

The  conduct  of  Penn  was  precisely  what  might  be  expected 
from  a  bold,  honest,  but  prudent  man.  As  on  a  former  occa- 
sion he  wrote  to  Lord  Nottingham,  so  he  now  addressed  himself 
to  Henry  Sidney.'* 

Henry  Sidney  was  the  younger  brother  of  Penn's  friend 
Algernon  Sidney,  but  shared  little  of  his  character.  Penn  had 
known  him  from  boyhood.  He  stood  high  in  the  favour  of 
William.^  To  him  Penn  wrote,  earnestly  denying  any  partici- 
pation in  the  plot,  or  knowledge  of  the  designs  of  the  con- 
spirators. 

"Let  it  be  enough,  I  say,  and  that  truly,  I  know  of  no 
invasions  or  insurrections — men,  money,  or  arms  for  them — or 
any  juncto,  or  consult  for  advice,  or  corresponding  in  order  to 
it ;  nor  have  I  ever  met  with  those  named  as  the  members  of 
this  conspiracy,  ov  prepared  any  measures  with  them.  .  .  . 
Noble  friend,  suff'er  not  the  King  to  be  abused  by  lies  to  my 
ruin.  My  enemies  are  none  of  his  friends.  I  plainly  see  the 
design  of  the  guilty  is  to  make  me  so ;  and  the  most  guilty 
thinking  dirt  will  best  stick  on  me,  to  which  old  grutches,  as 
well  as  personal  conveniences  to  others,  help  not  a  little."  '^ 

and  Sarsficld  filled  tliu  <^rave  of  Schomberg  —  with  what  j,'lowinf,'  clo<|Ueucc 
would  liord  Maciinlay  have  (U'liounccd  the  ingr.ititudc  of  the  Tyrant ! 

1  Journal  of  0.  Fox,  hy  Arniisted,  Ajip,  3;?G. 

^  Penn  to  Lloyd,  14th  of  4th  nio.  (i.e.,  June,  Penn  making  use  of  the  old 
style)  1691. — lanney's  I>ife  of  Penn,  3(>9. 

»  Privy  Council  Keg.,  5th  Fehruary  lG'JO-91.  •»  Jlac,  iv.  30. 

°  Burnet,  iv.  8.  '^  Penn  to  Henry  Sidney,  Janney'.s  Life  of  Penn,  369. 


184  TIIK    NKVV    "EXAMEN. 

Nor  <li«l  I '•■nil  confine  himself  to  writing;  he  sought  a  per- 
sonal inteiview  with  Sidney,  at  which  he  repeated  his  assur- 
ance of  his  having  no  share  in  any  plot  or  conspiracy.  Lord 
Macaulay  calls  Penn's  application  to  Sidney  a  "  strange  cora- 
niuiiication."  ^ 

What  there  was  strange  in  it  does  not  appear  very  clearly ; 
and  certainly  Sidney  felt,  or  at  any  rate  expressed,  no  surprise. 
It  will  be  seen  from  the  following  letter  that  Sidney  must  have 
received  this  communication  from  Penn  within  less  than  a  fort- 
night after  the  issue  of  the  proclamation. 

Sidney's  letter,  addressed  to  William,  who  was  then  at  the 
Hague,  is  as  follows : — 

"Feh.  21,  1690-1. 
"  SiiJ, — About  ten  days  ago,  Mr  Penn  sent  his  brother-in-law, 
Mr  Lowther,  to  me,  to  let  me  know  that  he  would  be  very 
glad  to  see  me  if  I  would  give  him  leave,  and  promise  hiiu  to 
let  him  return  without  being  molested.  I  sent  him  word  I 
would,  if  the  Queeu  would  permit  it.  He  then  desired  me  not 
to  mention  it  to  any  one  but  the  Queen.  I  said  I  would  not. 
On  Monday  he  sent  to  me  to  know  what  time  I  would  appoint. 
I  named  Wednesday,  in  the  evening ;  and  accordingly  I  went 
to  the  place  at  the  time,  where  I  found  him,  just  as  he  used  to 
be,  not  at  all  disguised,  but  in  the  same  clothes  and  the  same 
humour  I  formerly  have  seen  him  in.  It  would  be  too  long 
for  your  Majesty  to.  read  a  full  account  of  all  our  discourse ; 
but,  in  short,  it  was  this,  that  he  was  a  true  and  faithful  ser- 
vant to  King  AVilliam  and  Queen  Mary,  and  if  he  knew  any- 
thing that  was  prejudicial  to  them  or  their  Government,  he 
would  readily  discover  it.  He  protested,  in  the  presence  of 
God,  that  he  knew  of  no  plot ;  nor  did  he  believe  there  was 
any  one  in  Europe  but  what  King  Lewis  hath  laid  ;  and  he 
was  of  opinion  that  King  James  knew  the  bottom  of  this  plot 
as  little  as  other  people.  He  saith  he  knows  your  Majesty 
hath  a  great  many  enemies ;  and  some  that  came  over  with 
you,  and  some  that  joined  you  soon  after  your  amval,  he  was 
sure  were  more  inveterate  and  more  dangerous  than  the  Jac- 
1  Mac,  iv.  30  ;  vi.  31  ;  1858. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  185 

obites;  for  he  saith  there  is  not  one  man  among  them  tliat 
hath  common  understanding. 

"  To  the  letters  that  were  found  with  my  Lord  Preston,  and 
the  paper  of  the  conference,  he  would  not  give  any  positive 
answer,  but  said  if  he  could  have  the  honour  to  see  the  King, 
and  that  he  would  be  pleased  to  believe  the  sincerity  of  what 
he  saith,  and  pardon  the  ingenuity  of  what  he  confessed,  he 
would  freely  tell  everything  he  knew  of  himself,  and  other 
things  that  would  be  much  for  liis  ]\Iajesty's  service  and 
interest  to  know  ;  but  if  he  cannot  obtain  this  favour,  he  must 
be  obliged  to  quit  the  kingdom,  which  he  is  very  unwilling  to 
do.  He  saith  he  might  have  gone  away  twenty  times  if  he 
had  pleased,  but  he  is  so  confident  of  giving  your  Majesty 
satisfaction  if  you  would  hear  him,  that  he  has  resolved  to 
expect  your  return  before  he  took  any  sort  of  measures. 
What  he  intends  to  do  is  all  he  can  do  for  your  service,  for  he 
can't  be  a  witness  if  he  would,  it  being,  as  he  saith,  against 
his  conscience  and  his  principles  to  take  an  oath.  This  is  the 
sum  of  our  conference.  I  am  sure  your  Majesty  will  judge  as 
you  ought  to  do  of  it,  without  any  of  my  reflections."  ^ 

Such  is  Sidney's  letter.  Now  for  Lord  IMacaulay's  para- 
phrase : — 

"A  short  time  after  his  disappearance,  Sidney  received  from  him  a 
strange  communication.  Penn  begged  for  an  interview,  but  insisted  on 
a  promise  that  he  should  be  suffered  to  return  unmolested  to  his  hiding- 
place.  Sidney  obtained  the  royal  [)ermission  to  make  an  appointment  on 
these  terms.  Penn  came  to  the  rendezvous,  and  spoke  at  length  in  his 
own  defence.  He  declared  that  he  was  a  faithful  subject  of  King  Wil- 
liam and  Queen  Mary,  and  that  if  he  knew  of  any  design  against  them  lie 
would  discover  it.  Departing  from  his  Yea  and  Nay,  he  protested,  as  in 
the  presence  of  God,  that  he  knew  of  no  plot,  and  that  he  did  not  believe 
that  there  was  any  plot,  unless  the  ambitious  projects  of  the  French 
Government  might  be  called  plots.  Sidney,  amazed  jn-obably  by  liearing 
a  person  who  had  such  an  abhorrence  of  lies  that  he  would  not  use  the 
common  forms  of  civility,  and  such  an  al)horrence  of  oaths  that  he  would 
not  kiss  the  book  in  a  court  of  justice,  tidl  something  very  like  a  lie,  and 
confirm  it  by  something  very  like  an  oath — asked  how,  if  there  were 
really  no  plot,  the  letters  ami  minutes  which  had  been  found  ujxm  Ash- 
ton  were  to  be  explained.  This  (piestion  Penn  evailed.  '  If,'  he  said,  '  I 
could  only  see  the  King,  I  wouhl  confess  everything  to  him  freely.     I 

I  Dal.,  ii.  App.  183. 


180  THE    NEW    "  EXAMEN. 

woulil  tell  liiiii  iiiurli  tli.'il  it  would  be  important  for  liim  to  know.  It  is 
Diily  in  that  way  tliat  I  can  1)0  of  Bcrvicc  to  him.  A  witncsH  for  the 
( 'lown  J  cannot  he,  for  my  conscience  will  not  suffer  me  to  be  sworn.'  lie 
assured  Sidney  tliat  the  most  formidable  enemies  of  the  Governmtmt  were 
the  discontented  Whif^'s.  'The  Jacobites  are  not  dangerous.  There  is 
not  a  man  amonfrst  tiiem  who  has  common  understanding.  Some  per- 
sons who  came  over  from  Holland  with  the  King  are  much  more  to  be 
dreaded.'  Jt  dues  not  appear  that  Penn  mentioned  any  names.  lie  was 
suU'ered  to  depart  in  safety.  No  active  search  was  made  for  him.  He 
lay  hid  in  Loudon  during  some  months,  and  then  stole  down  to  the  coast 
of  Sussex,  and  made  his  escape  to  France."  ^ 

Here  we  find  the  liand  of  the  accomplished  artist.  One  of 
the  most  able  of  the  political  caricatures  of  Gilray,  entitled 
Douhlures  of  Character,  contains  portraits  of  Fox,  Sheridan, 
and  several  other  leading  Whigs.  Beside  each  head  is  a  re- 
petition so  slightly  altered  that  the  change  is  hardly  percep- 
tible, yet  so  skilfully  and  so  completely  that  Fox  is  converted 
into  the  arch-fiend,  Sheridan  into  Judas  Iscariot,  Sir  Francis 
Burdett  into  Sixteen-string  Jack,  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  into 
Silenus,  and  Lord  Derby  into  a  baboon.  Such  is  Lord  Macau- 
lay's  treatment  of  Sidney's  letter.  Sidney  expresses  no  amaze- 
ment ;  he  never  intimates  that  he  considered  Penn's  statement 
to  be  "  something  very  like  a  lie."  Lord  Macaulay  asserts  that 
Penn  said,  "  If  I  could  only  see  the  King,  I  would  confess 
everything  to  him  freely."  Sidney's  statement  is  that  Penn 
said,  "  if  he  could  have  the  honour  to  see  the  King,  and  that 
he  would  be  pleased  to  believe  the  sincerity  of  what  he  said, 
and  pardon  the  ingenuity  [ingenuousness]  of  what  he  confessed, 
he  would  freely  tell  everything  he  knew  of  himself,  and  other 
things  that  would  be  much  for  his  Majesty's  service  and 
interest  to  know." 

The  two  statements  are  widely  different.  Lord  Macaulay 's 
implies  that  Penn  had  some  crime  to  confess ;  Sidney's 
amounts  to  no  more  than  that  Penn  would  give  all  infonna- 
tion  in  his  power,  if  he  could  be  allowed  to  do  so  directly  to 
the  King.  And  without  going  the  length  of  Swift,  who  de- 
scribes Henry  Sidney  as  "  an  idle,  drunken,  ignorant  rake, 
without  sense,  truth,  or  honour,"  ^  it  may  weU  be  that  Penn 
did  not  choose  to  make  him  the  channel  of  communication  for 

>  Mac,  iv.  30  ;  vi.  32  ;  1853.  "  Burnet,  iii.  2(34,  note. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  187 

all  that  he  might  he  disposed  to  trust  to  the  King  himself.  In 
his  account  of  this  interview,  Lord  IMacaiilay  marks  two 
passages  with  inverted  commas,  as  if  they  formed  part  of  the 
document  he  is  quoting.  The  passages  which  occur  in  Sid- 
ney's letter  are  widely  different,  as  will  be  seen  by  a  compari- 
son of  the  two.  Does  Lord  jNIacaulay  consider  this  "  emphati- 
cally honest "  ?  No  one  knows  better  than  he  does  that  not 
one  in  ten  thousand  of  his  readers  will  refer  to  Dahyniple's 
Appendix  to  test  his  accuracy,  or  suspect  him  of  passing  off 
his  own  paraphrase  as  the  copy  of  an  original  document. 

Lord  Macaulay  proceeds :  "  He  lay  hid  in  London  during 
some  months,  and  then  stole  down  to  the  coast  of  Sussex,  and 
made  his  escape  to  France." 

For  tills  assertion  Lord   Macaulay  cites   Luttrell's  Diary, 
September  1691.     Luttrell  is  a  favourite  authority  with  Lord 
Macaulay,  who  cites  his  Diary  as  if  it  deserved  similar  credit 
with  those  of  Evelyn   and  Clarendon.    At  the  time  of  the 
publication  of  Lord  Macaulay's  History,  Luttrell's  Diaiy  re- 
mained in  manuscript,  and  a  certain  mysterious  value  was 
attached  to  it.     It  has  since  been  published,  and  a  mass  of 
duller  and  more  contemptible  rubbish  never  appeared  in  six 
handsome  octavo  volumes.    Of  Luttrell  himself  little  is  known, 
except  that  he  was  a  book-collector,  and  died  in  1732 ;  that 
he  was  rich,  sordid,  and  churlish  ;  and  that  his  collection  (as 
described  by  Scott  ^)  "  contained  the  earliest  editions  of  many 
of  our  most  excellent  poems,  bound  up  according  to  the  order 
of  time,  with  the  lowest  trash  of  Grub  Street."     He  was  an 
enthusiastic  believer  in  Titus  Gates.     His  journal  is  a  record 
of  every  canard  of  the  day.     He  ponders  gravely  on  the  singu- 
lar coincidence  of  the  names  of  Green,  Berry,  and  Hill,  the 
three  unhappy  men  who  were  hanged  for  the  murder  of  Sir  Ed- 
mondbury  Godfrey,  with  the  old  designation  of  Primrose  Hill, 
where  Godfrey's  body  was  discovered,  and  which  went  formerly 
by  the  name  of  Greenberry  Hill.     He  relates  the  appearance 
of  the  ghost  of  Godfrey  with  as  much  confidence  and  as  much 
truth  as  the  disappearance  of  Penn.'-     He  records  the  ominous 

^  Scott's  Drj'dcn,  i.  iv. 

2  "  1678-79,  Fcbnuiiy.      About  tlic  iiiiiUllc  of  this  month,  on  a  Sunday, 


188  THE   NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

fall  <.r  llic  sceptre  from  tlic  liaiid  of  tlic  statue  of  Queen  Mary 
at  the  Exchange.'  He  asserts  tliat  I'enn  was  appointed  "  Su- 
pervisor of  the  P^xcise  and  hearth  -  money."  ^  This  was  a 
"  sliani  "  of  some  "  coflFee-house  scribblers  that  skulked  within 
the  rules  of  Gray's  Inn  and  elsewhere."^  He  says  that  "the 
Topish  scholars  and  Fellows  of  Magdalene  College  have  been 
found  since  the  turning  out  to  have  much  embezzled  the  plate 
belonging  to  the  College."  *  Dr  Smith,  one  of  the  Protestant 
Fellows,  on  the  other  hand,  says  :  "Upon  a  subsequent  search 
and  inspection  we  found  our  writings  and  muniments  safe — 
the  old  gold  in  the  Tower,  which  we  counted,  untouched  and 
entire — the  plate  left  as  we  left  it — and  nothing,  as  I  remem- 
ber, missing."  ^  He  hears  that  a  French  ship  has  been  taken, 
in  which  has  been  found  a  chest,  containing  "  a  strange  sort  of 
knife,  about  two  feet  long,  with  the  back  to  chop,  and  the 
point  turning  inwards  to  rip ; "  in  other  words,  a  common 
hedger's  bill ;  and  he  apprehends  that  it  is  "  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  Protestants  ! "  ^  These  are  fair-  samples  of  the  "  Diary." 
No  lie  was  too  monstrous,  no  story  too  absurd,  to  find  accept- 
ance with  Luttrell,  provided  only  it  was  a  Protestant  lie  or  a 
Protestant  story.  It  is  only  necessary  to  refer  to  any  narra- 
tive of  Penn's  life,  from  Croese  and  Besse  dow^n  to  Dixon  and 
Janney,  to  find  how  he  was  employed  during  his  retirement 
from  public  life.  He  remained  at  his  usual  residence  ;  he 
watched  over  his  d3^ing  wife ;  and  he  gave  to  the  M'orld  some 
of  his  best  known  writings.  Croese  says  :  "  From  that  time 
Peuu  withdrew  himself  more  and  more  from  business,  and  at 
length,  at  London,  in  his  own  house,  confined  himself,  as  it 
were,  to  a  voluntary  exile  from  the  converse,  fellowship,  and 

about  eleven  in  the  morning,  a  prodigious  darkness  overspread  the  face  of  the 
sky — the  like  was  never  known — and  continued  about  half  an  liour.  The 
darkness  was  so  great  that  in  several  churches  they  could  riOt  proceed  in  divine 
service  without  candles ;  and  'tis  said  during  that  time  the  figure  of  Sir  E. 
Godfrey  appeared  in  the  Queen's  Chappie  at  Somerset  House  whilst  service 
was  saying." — Vol.  i.  8. 

1  November  1688.  ^  Lutt.  Diary,  Aug.  8,  16S8— vol.  i.  453. 

^  Ellis  Cor.,  ii.  210,  211.  "Another  of  these  shams  is  that  Mr  Penn  is 
made  Controller  of  Excise  arising  in  tea  and  cotfee,  which  is  also  false,  though 
one  might  think  they  might  be  better  informed  on  matters  relating  to  their 
own  trade."     See  also  Penn's  letter  to  Popple,  24th  October  1688. 

*  Vol.  i.  469.  *  St.  Tr.,  .\ii.  79.  «  December  1688. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  180 

conference  of  others,  employing  himself  only  in  his  domestic 
affairs,  that  he  might  be  devoted  more  to  meditation  and 
spiritual  exercises."  ^  Besse,  in  his  quaint  and  simple  lan- 
guage, gives  a  more  detailed  account  of  the  mode  in  \vhich 
Penn  employed  what  Lord  jNIacaulay  calls  these  "  three  years 
of  wandering  and  lurking."  ^  "  He  had  hitherto,"  says  Besse, 
"  defended  himself  before  the  King  and  Council,  but  now 
thought  it  rather  advisable  to  retire  for  a  time  tlian  hazard  the 
sacrificing  his  innocence  to  the  oaths  of  a  profligate  villain ; 
and  accordingly,  he  appeared  but  little  in  public  for  two  or 
three  years.  During  this  recess  he  applied  himself  to  writing  ; 
and  flrst,  lest  his  own  friends  the  Quakers  should  entertain 
any  sinister  thought  of  him,  he  sent  the  following  epistle  to 
their  yearly  meeting  in  London."  Of  this  communication, 
which  Besse  gives  at  length,  it  is  unnecessary  to  transcribe 
more  than  the  following  solemn  words :  "  My  privacy  is  not 
because  men  have  sworn  truly,  but  falsely,  against  me  ;  for 
wicked  men  have  laid  in  wait  for  me,  and  false  witnesses  have 
laid  to  my  charge  things  that  I  knew  not."  A  fate  that  has 
pursued  him  beyond  the  grave.  His  biographer  then  pro- 
ceeds :  "  His  excellent  Preface  to  Eobert  Barclay's  works,  and 
another  to  those  of  John  Burnyeat,  both  printed  this  year, 
were  further  fruits  of  his  retirement ;  as  was  also  a  small 
treatise,  entitled  '  Just  JNIeasures,  in  an  Epistle  of  Peace  and 
Love  to  such  Professors  as  are  under  any  Dissatisfaction  about 
the  present  Order  practised  in  the  Church  of  Christ.'  '  A  Key 
opening  the  Way  to  every  common  Understanding,  &c.  &c.; ' 
a  book  so  generally  accepted  that  it  has  been  reprinted  even 
to  the  twelfth  edition.  *  An  Essay  towards  the  present  Peace 
of  Europe  : '  a  work  so  adapted  to  the  unsettled  condition  of 
the  times,  and  so  well  received,  that  it  was  reprinted  the  same 
year."  "  '  Keflections  and  Maxims  relating  to  the  Conduct  of 
Human  Life ' — an  useful  little  book,  which  has  also  passed 
many  impressions. 

"  Having  thus  improved  the  times  of  his  retirement  to  his 
own  comfort  and  the  common  good,  it  pleased  Cod  to  dissipate 
that  cloud,  and  open  Ids  way  again  to  a  publick  service ;  for  in 

iBook  ii.  p.  102  ;  1G96.  "■'Mac,  iv.  31  ;  vi.  32;  1858. 


10(1  TMK    NKW    "  HXAMKN. 

llic  l;ill(!r  (11(1  of  tliu  year  1G93,  through  the  mcdiatuju  ol  his 
fiiciKls,  the  Lord  lianolagh,  Lord  Somers,  Duke  of  Bucking- 
liuiii,  and  Sir  John  Trciichard,  or  some  of  them,  he  was 
a(hiiittcd  to  appear  before  the  King  and  Council,  where  he  so 
pleaded  his  inuocency  that  he  was  acquitted. 

"  In  the  12th  month  1G93  departed  this  life  his  beloved  wife, 
GulicliiKi  Maria,  with  whom  he  had  lived  in  all  the  endear- 
ments of  that  nearest  relation  about  twenty-one  years.  The 
loss  of  her  was  a  veiy  great  exercise — such  himself  said — as 
all  his  other  troubles  were  nothing  in  comparison.  Her  char- 
acter, dying  expressions,  and  pious  end  were  related  by  him- 
self in  an  account  he  published,  and  wliich  is  inserted  in  the 
appendix."  ^ 

Such  is  the  testimony  of  contemporaries — such  were  the 
employments,  such  the  afllictions  of  Penn  during  the  three 
years  which  Lord  Macaulay  would  induce  his  readers  to  believe 
were  passed  in  wandering,  lurking,  and  plotting ! 


IX. 

The  Ninth  and  concluding  charge  brought  by  Lord  Macaulay 
against  Penn  is  in  the  following  passage :  ^ — 

"  After  about  three  years  of  wandering  and  lurking,  he,  by  the  media- 
tion of  some  eminent  men,  who  overlooked  his  faults  for  the  sake  of  his 
good  qualities,  made  his  peace  with  the  Government,  and  again  ventured 
to  resume  his  ministration.  The  return  which  he  made  for  the  lenity 
with  which  he  had  been  treated,  does  not  much  raise  his  character. 
Scarcely  had  he  begun  to  harangue  in  public  about  the  unlawfulness  of 
war,  when  he  sent  a  message,  earnestly  exhorting  James  to  make  an  im- 
mediate descent  on  England  with  thirty  thousand  men." 

Lord  Macaulay  forgets  to  state  that,  amongst  the  eminent 
men  who  made  his  peace  with  the  Government  were  Locke 
and  Somers.^  The  attachment  of  such  men  weighs  more  in 
favour  of  the  character  of  Penn  than  the  animosity  of  Lord 
Macaiday  against  it. 

The  charge  of  "  exhorting  James  to  make  an  immediate 

'  Bosse's  Life  of  renn,  140,  141 ;  1726.  »  Vol.  iv.  31  ;  vi.  32  ;  1858. 

'  Dixon's  Life  of  Peun,  351,  356,  292. 


WILLIAM   PENN.  191 

descent  on  England  with  thirty  thousand  men,"  rests  upon 
evidence  which  will  not  bear  a  moment's  scrutiny. 

In  Macpherson's  '  State  Papers/  vol.  i.  p.  465,  is  preserved 
a  translation  of  a  rough  draught,  professing  to  contain  infor- 
mation collected  in  England  by  one  Captain  "Williamson,  wiio 
appears  to  have  been  employed  as  a  spy  on  behalf  of  James. 
The  value  of  the  captain's  information  may  be  judged  of  by 
the  fact  that,  professing  to  be  trusted  with  the  secret  thouglits 
of  Lord  Montgomery,  the  Earl  of  Aylesbury,  the  Earl  of  Yar- 
mouth, the  Earl  of  Arran,  Sir  Theophilus  Oglethorp,  Sir  John 
Friend,  Mr  Lowton,  Mr  Strode,  Mr  Ferguson,  Mr  Penn,  and 
Colonel  Graham,  he  finds  that  each  of  them  severally  has 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  thirty  thousand  men  is  the  exact 
number  required  to  replace  King  James  on  the  throne,  with 
the  addition,  in  one  instance,  of  a  "  Black  Brigade,"  of  a 
peculiar  character ;  for  one  of  the  persons  whose  sentiments 
he  professes  to  speak,  promises  that  "  he  will  join  to  his  regi- 
ment a  company  of  clergymen  of  the  Church  of  England,  who 
are  disposed  to  serve  as  volunteers  in  this  expedition — as  are, 
in  fact  the  majority  of  the  clergy  who  have  not  taken  the 
oaths,  and  also  many  of  them  who  have  taken  them."  This  is 
testimony  which  Lord  ]\Iacaulay  would  reject  with  scorn,  were 
he  not  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  adopting  it  to  support  his 
determination  to  blacken  the  character  of  William  Penn. 

There  is  nothing  to  show  that  Williamson  had  even  the 
slightest  acquaintance  with  Penn ;  and  there  is  nothing  what- 
ever but  this  contemptible  trash  to  support  Lord  Macaulay's 
assertion. 

This  brings  us  to  tlie  end  of  the  definite  charges  brought 
by  Lord  Macaulay  against  William  Penn. 

I  have  not  noticed  the  error  with  regard  to  Penn's  visit  to 
the  Hague,  because  liord  Macaulay  has  omitted  it  from  the 
last  edition  of  his  History,  though  without  pointing  out  to  his 
readers  the  mistake  into  which  he  had  fallen,  or  acknow- 
ledging his  obligation  to  Mr  Hepworth  Dixon  for  correcting 
it.^    It  is  not  my  intention  to  follow  the  sneers  or  insinuations 

1  Compare  Mac,  8vo  edit.,  1848,  ii.  231,  and  edit.  1858,  ii.  493  ;  Dixon's 
Lifeof  reun,  1851,  p.  448. 


192  TIIK    NM:W    "  ICXAMEN. 

wliicli  L<»r(l  Marauliiy  has  scattered  tlirou^jh  his  vohimes,  or 
to  spcciiliito  ui)()n  the  motives,  public  or  private,  wliicli  liave 
instigated  his  conduct.  It  is  enough  for  me  if  I  give  tlie 
reader  what  lie  will  certainly  not  find  in  the  pages  of  Lord 
ISIacaulay — namely,  the  means  of  testing  for  himself  the  tioith 
of  each  substantial  charge.^  Another  i)assage,  however,  re- 
quires notice,  not  that  it  in  any  way  affects  the  character  of 
IVnn,  but  because  it  has  considerable  bearing  on  the  degree  of 
accuracy  with  which  Lord  IMacaulay  has  investigated  the 
evidence  before  hazarding  very  positive  assertion.  Besse,  the 
earliest  biographer  of  I'enn,  states  that  one  of  the  accusations 
against  Penn  was  "  backed  by  the  oath  of  one  William  Fuller, 
a  wretch  afterwards  by  Parliament  declared  a  cheat  and  im- 
postor." 2  Lord  Macanlay  says  that  this  account  is  "  certainly 
false  ;"^  that  Fuller  was  not  the  informer.^  It  is  not  very 
material  who  was  the  informer,  when  the  accusations  brought 
were  of  such  a  nature  that,  notwithstanding  the  strong  disposi- 

1  Lord  Macaulay's  habit  of  citing  a  number  of  authorities,  frequently  with- 
out specifying  dates  or  pages,  at  the  end  of  a  long  history,  without  giving  any 
clue  by  wliicli  the  reader  can  discover  for  what  facts  he  considers  each  to  be  an 
authority,  renders  it  a  work  of  great  labour  to  follow  him,  so  as  to  test  his 
accuracy. 

2  Besse,  p.  140.  3  ;Mji(._  jy.  30,  note. 

*  Lord  Macaulay  thus  commences  his  account  of  Fuller  :  "Of  these  double 
traitors,  the  most  remarkable  was  William  Fuller.  This  man  has  himself  told 
\is,  that  when  he  was  very  young,  he  fell  in  with  a  pamphlet  vhich  contained 
an  account  of  the  flagitious  life  and  horrible  death  of  Dangcrfield.  The  boy's 
imagination  was  set  on  fire  :  he  devoured  the  book — he  almost  got  it  by  heart ; 
and  he  was  soon  seized,  and  ever  after  haunted,  by  a  strange  presentiment  that 
his  fate  would  resemble  that  of  the  wretched  adventurer  whose  history  he  had 
so  eagerly  read.  It  might  have  been  supposed  that  the  prospect  of  dying  in 
Newgate,  with  a  back  flayed  and  an  eye  knocked  out,  would  not  have  seemed 
very  attractive.  But  experience  proves  that  there  are  some  distempered  minds, 
for  which  notoriety,  even  when  accompanied  with  pain  and  shame,  has  an 
irresistible  fascination.  Animated  by  this  loathsome  ambition,  Fuller  equalled, 
and  perhaps  surpassed,  his  model."  * 

The  book  referred  to  by  Fuller  as  having  excited  his  bopsh  imagination 
contains  no  account  whatever  of  the  "  horrible  death  of  Dangerfield ;"  nor 
could  it,  for  it  was  published  in  1680,  and  Dangerfield's  death  did  not  take 
place  until  1685. t  Nor  can  it  properly  be  said  to  contain  any  "account  of 
Ins  tlagitious  life."  It  is  an  avowed  fiction,  entitled  'Don  Tomazo,  or  the 
Juvenile  Eambles  of  Thomas  Dangerfield,'  written  in  imitation  of  '  The 
Cheats  and  Cunning  Contrivances  of  Guzman  and  Lazarillo  de  Tormes.'  The 
-  M.nc,  iii.  590  :  v.  221 :  1S5S.  t  Evoljii's  Diary,  2d  July  1685. 


WILLIAM    PENN.  193 

tion  1  to  proceed  to  extremities  against  Peiin,  no  case  could  be 
discovered  upon  which  to  found  any  charge  that  woukl  bear 

hero  of  the  story  is  Dangerfield,  and  it  leaves  liiiii,  where  history  takes  him 
uji,  at  the  period  of  his  introduction  to  Mrs  Cellier.*  Fuller  refers  to  this 
book  by  the  short  title  of  *  Dangerfield's  Rambles,'  which  is  used  as  a  heading 
to  the  pages.  He  states  that  he  met  with  it  whilst  staying  with  his  stepfather 
during  the  summer  preceding  that  in  which  he  would  be  of  age  to  choose  a 
guardian  for  himself  (i.e.,  fourteen)  ;  and  as  Fuller  was  born  in  September 
1670,t  this  must  have  occurred  in  the  summer  of  1683.  Dangerfield's  death 
took  place  in  the  summer  of  1685  ;  so  that,  according  to  Lord  Macaulay, 
Fuller's  imagination  was  inllamed  by  an  event  two  years  before  it  happened  ! 
The  circumstances  of  Dangerfield's  death  are  well  known.  As  he  was  return- 
ing through  Holborn  after  the  execution  of  part  of  his  horrible  sentence,  a 
gentleman  of  Gray's  Inn,  of  the  name  of  Francis,  who  was  accidentally  walking 
along  the  street,  accompanied  by  his  wife,  attracted  by  curiosity,  looked  in  at 
the  window  of  the  coach  in  which  the  prisoner  was,  and  carried  away  by  the 
feelings  of  detestation  w'hich  the  sight  of  Dangerfield  naturally  inspired,  ad- 
dressed some  taunting  words  to  him,  which,  considering  tlie  miserable  condi- 
tion of  the  wretched  man,  might  well  have  been  spared.  Dangerfield  replied 
with  still  greater  insolence.  Francis,  losing  all  self-command,  struck  him  on 
the  head  with  a  small  cane.  The  blow  injured  his  eye,  and  shortly  afterwards 
Dangerfield  died — his  death,  it  was  said,  being  attributable  to  the  blow.  "  The 
appearance  of  Dangerfield's  body,"  says  Lord  Macaulay,  "  wliich  had  been  fright- 
fully lacerated  with  the  whip,  inclined  many  to  believe  that  his  death  was  chiefiy, 
if  not  wholly,  caused  by  the  stripes  he  had  received.  The  Government  and  the 
Chief  Justice  thought  it  convenient  to  lay  the  whole  blame  on  Francis,  who, 
though  he  seems  to  have  been  at  worst  guilty  only  of  aggravated  manslaughter, 
was  tried  and  executed  for  nnuder."t  So  far  Lord  Macaulay  is  accurate,  but 
Francis  was  a  "Tory  ;"  and  Lord  Macaulay  proceeds  as  follows  :  "  His  dying 
speech  is  one  of  the  most  curious  monuments  of  that  age.  The  savage  >s-jiirU 
which  had  brought  him  to  the  gallows  remained  with  him  to  the  last.  Boasts  of 
his  loyalty,  and  abuse  of  the  Whigs,  were  mingled  with  the  parting  ejaculations 
in  which  he  commended  his  soul  to  the  Divine  mercy.  An  idle  rumour  had 
been  circulated  that  his  wife  was  in  love  with  Dangerfield,  who  was  eminently 
handsome,  and  renowned  for  gallantry.  The  fatal  blow,  it  was  s;iid,  had  been 
promi)ted  by  jealousy.  The  dying  husband,  ivith  an  earnestness  half  ridicu- 
lous, half  pathetic,  vindicated  the  lady's  character  ;  she  was,  he  said,  a  vir- 
tuous woman ;  .she  came  of  a  loyal  stock ;  and  if  she  had  been  inclined  to 
brtiak  her  marriage  vow,  vjould  at  least  luivc  selected  a  Tory  and  a  Churcliman 
for  her  2)Cirainotcr."§ 

Where  Lord  Mai'aulay  finds  either  the  "  savage  spirit,"  or  the  "abuse  of  the 
Whigs,"  or  even  the  "  parting  ejaculations,"  it  is  difficult  to  say.  The  dying 
speech  of  Francis  was  a  written  p.aper,  carefully  prepared,  and  delivered  to  tlu' 
Ordinary  at  the  place  of  execution,  with  a  dircition  that  it  should  be  published. 

'  Burnet,  ii.  235.  t  Fuller's  Life,  2,  4. 

I  Miic,  i.  4H9  :  ii.  64  ;  1858.  §  Mac,  i.  40n. 


^  See  the  Letters  of  Lord  ('arni:irthi  n   and    Lord   Nottingham,   Dai.   Ajip, 
ii.  187. 

N 


194  THE    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

investigation  in  a,  court  of  justice,  even  such  as  courts  were  in 
ilioso  (lays.  ]*»ut  if  I'enn  himself  can  be  supposed,  notwith- 
standing Lord  Macaulay's  assertion,  to  liave  known  anything 

It  is  almost  wholly  devoted  to  clearing  liim  of  the  suspicion  of  having  acted 
with  design  or  prcincditation  in  the  unliajiiiy  allair  to  which  his  life  was  about  to 
1)0  sacrificed,  or  of  having  borne  any  personal  malice  against  Dangerfield.  Noth- 
ing can  be  clearer  than  that  he  suHVred  death  most  unjustly.  In  no  view  could 
his  ofTcnco  be  held  to  amount  to  murder.  Even  admitting  that  Dangerfield's 
death  was  caused  by  the  blow  he  received  from  Francis,  of  which  there  is  great 
doubt,  that  blow  was  struck  in  a  sudden  gust  of  passion,  upon  an  accidental 
occasion,  without  premeditation,  and  with  a  weapon  (a  small  cane)  very  un- 
likely to  produce  a  fatal  result. 

rerhai)S  Lord  Macaulay  discovers  "abuse  of  the  Whigs"  in  the  prayer 
which  Francis  offered  up  to  "  God  Almighty  to  preserve  and  bless  "  King 
James,  who  had  refused  mercy  to  him,  and  was  about  to  sacrifice  him  to  the 
outcry  of  a  "faction."  Perhaps  he  discovers  a  "savage  xplrit"  in  the  reflec- 
tion which  Francis  makes,  almost  in  the  words  which  Shakespeare  has  placed 
in  the  mouth  of  Wolsey.  "  If  I  had  been  as  zealous  in  the  service  of  God  as  my 
prince,  He  would  not  have  left  me  so  much  to  myself  as  to  have  pennitted  me 
to  have  fallen  into  this  unexpected  extremity." 

Besides  clearing  himself  of  suspicion  of  the  guilt  of  murder,  he  vindicates 
the  character  of  his  wife,  which  had  been  assailed  by  base  and  cowardly  slan- 
derers. He  blesses  the  Lord  that  he  has  lived  so  as  "not  to  be  ashamed  to 
live  or  afraid  to  die."  "But,"  he  saj's,  "that  which  most  sensibly  afflicts  me, 
and  is  worse  to  me  than  death,  is,  that  I  cannot  sufler  alone,  but  that  thej* 
have  not  only  raised  scandals  upon  me  in  particular  preparatory  to  it,  but 
upon  my  poor  innocent  v.nfc,  as  if  my  jealousy  of  her  had  been  the  reason  of  my 
animosity  to  Dangerfield,  when  I  am  morallj''  certain  she  never  saw  him  in  her 
whole  life  save  that  fatal  moment  ;  and  no  couple  (as  hundreds  can  witness) 
have  lived  in  better  correspondence  ;  and  besides  that,  she  is  as  virtuous  a 
woman  as  lives,  and  born  of  so  good  and  loyal  *  a  family,  that,  if  she  had  been 
so  inclined,  she  would  have  scorned  to  have  prostituted  herself  to  such  a  profli- 
gate person  ;  but,  on  the  contrary  (God  is  my  witness),  I  never  had  any  such 
thoughts  of  her,  and  do  as  verily  believe,  as  there  is  a  God  in  heaven,  I  never 
had  any  reason,  she  having  always  been  the  most  indulgent,  kind,  and  loving 
wife  that  ever  man  had,  and  in  my  conscience  one  of  the  best  of  women."t 

What  Lord  Macaulay  finds  "ridiculous  "  in  this  vindication  of  his  slandered 
wife  bj-  a  man  on  the  brink  of  eternity,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  discover.  The  non- 
.sense  about  " seledlni)  a  Tory  ami  a  Churchman  for  her  paramour,"  is  Lonl 
Macaulay's  own.  Nothing  of  the  kind  can  be  traced  in  the  speech  of  Francis 
which  will  be  found  at  length  in  the  Appendix.  It  is  worth  perusal,  in  order 
to  see  what  Lord  Macaulay  considers  to  be  "  one  of  the  most  curious  monu- 
ments of  that  age  ;"  though  the  reader  will  probably  be  as  much  puzzled  to 
discover  how  it  is  entitled  to  that  distinction  as  to  find  either  the  "  savage 

*  Loyal ;  1,  Obedient ;  2,  Faithful  in  love. 
"  Hail,  wedded  love  !  by  thee 
Founded  in  reason,  loyal,  just,  and  pure." — Milton. 

Johnson's  Dirtinniiry. 
t  11  State  Trials,  509. 


WILLIAM!    PENN.  195 

about  the  matter,  it  is  "  certainly  true  "  that  Fuller  was  one  of 
the  informers.  Besse  may  have  fallen  into  some  inaccuracy 
as  to  the  date  or  the  particular  occasion,  but  the  following 
letter  is  conclusive  as  to  the  main  fact : — 

"  I  have  been  above  these  three  years  hunted  up  and  down, 
and  could  never  be  allowed  to  live  quietly  in  city  or  country, 
even  then  when  there  was  hardly  a  pretence  against  me,  so 
that  I  have  not  only  been  unprotected,  but  persecuted  by  the 
Government.  And  before  the  date  of  this  business  which  is 
laid  to  my  charge,  I  was  indicted  for  high  treason  in  Ireland, 
before  the  Grand  Jury  of  Dublin,  and  a  Bill  found  upon  the 
oaths  of  three  scandalous  men.  Fuller,  one  Fisher,  and  an 
Irishman,  whom  I  knew  not ;  and  the  last  has  not  been  in 

spirit"  which  Lord  Macaulay  discerns,  or  the  "abuse  of  the  Wliigs,"  which  is 
so  capital  an  offence  in  his  eyes. 

In  the  first  volume  of  Lord  Jlacaulay's  history,  p.  488,*  there  is  the  follow- 
ing note  with  regard  to  Dangerficld  :  "According  to  Roger  North,  the  judges 
decided  that  Dangerficld,  having  been  previously  convicted  of  perjury,  was 
incompetent  to  be  a  witness  of  the  plot.  But  this  is  one  among  many  i7istances 
of  Roger's  inaccuracy.  It  apjiears  from  the  report  of  the  trial  of  Lord  Civstle- 
mainc,  in  Juno  1680,  that,  after  much  altercation  between  counsel,  and  much 
consultation  among  the  judges  of  the  different  courts  in  Westminster  Hall, 
Dangerfield  was  sworn  and  suffered  to  tell  his  story  ;  but  the  jury  very  pro- 
perly refused  to  believe  him."  This  is  one  of  the  many  inaccuracies,  not  of 
Roger  North,  but  of  Lord  Macaulay.  North  refers  not  to  Lord  Castlemaine's 
trial,  but  to  that  of  Mrs  Cellier,  7  State  Trials,  1043,  where  Dangerfield  was 
tendered  as  a  witness  and  rejected.  It  is  the  more  singular  that  Lord  Mac- 
aulay should  have  fallen  into  this  error,  and  grounded  upon  it  his  sneer  at 
North,  inasmuch  as  the  rejection  of  Dangerfield  is  made  the  subject  of  remark 
in  Mr  Hargreave's  learned  argument  on  the  efl'ect  of  the  King's  pardon  of  per- 
jury ;  and  the  debate  of  the  judges  on  the  question  of  admissibility,  is  reported 
by  Sir  T.  Raymond,  p.  3G8,  who  states  that  they  were  divided  in  opinion,  the 
majority  Icing  for  rejecting  the  testimony,  whieh  was  accordingly  done.  The 
passage  in  North's  '  Kxamen'  is  as  follows  :  "But  then  as  soon  as  Dangerficld 
advanced,  the  woman  "  [i.  e,,  Cellier]  "charged  with  fuiy  upon  him  with  an 
whole  battery  of  records,  being  convictions,  outlawries,  and  judgments,  with 
arser  de  main,  pillory,  prison  breach,  and  what  not  of  villany,  and  almost 
every  species  of  crime  ;  then  by  proof  showed  so  many  ill  things  of  him,  as  the 
court  woAs  soon  satisjied  to  reject  him  as  a  wltni'ss.  ,  .  .  In  fine,  the  fellow 
was  exploded  with  ignominy,  and  sent  home  to  Newgate  again,  and  the  pri- 
soner was  acquitted. "t 

*  Vol.  ii.  63,  1853. 

t  Exaiiien,  263  ;  7  Stato  Trials,  105S,  Ilargrenvc'.s  note  :  Sir  T.  Rayinond'a  Reports,  869,  n 
note  of  the  ejusc.  The  Cliief  Justice  Rnynioml,  and  Niehol.s,  were  for  rejceting,  Jones  find 
Dolltcn  for  niliiiitlint;  him  ;  ho  wa.s  consciinciitly  u'jerted.  Mrs  Cellicr's  trial  took  jilace  on 
the  lUh  .luiii'  1080;  on  the  ICth  l)ant;ortlelil  wa.s  disrharged,  havin;;  obtained  his  jiardon  ; 
and  on  the  23d  he  was  examined  on  Lord  Ca.stlemaine's  trial.     See  Lutf.  Diaiy,  i.  47,  'IS. 


lOr,  TIIK    NKW    "  KXAMEN. 

Kuj^laiul  since  the  Eevolution,  nor  I  in  Iicliiud  tlicse  twenty 
years,  nor  do  I  so  much  as  know  him  by  name ;  and  all 
their  evidence  upon  hearsay  too.  It  may  be  that  it  is  the 
most  extraordinary  case  that  has  been  known  ;  .  .  .'  that 
an  Englishman  in  England,  walking  about  the  streets,  should 
have  a  bill  of  high  treason  found  against  him  in  Ireland 
for  a  fact  pretended  to  be  committed  in  England,  when 
a  man  cannot  legally  be  tried  in  one  county  in  England  for 
a  crime  committed  in  another.  And  the  others  are  at  ease 
that  were  accused  for  the  same  fault,  and  that  Fuller  is  wi- 
tionally  staged  and  censured  for  an  impostor  that  was  the  chief 
of  »n/  accusers:  my  estate  in  Ireland  is,  notwithstanding, 
lately  put  up  among  the  estates  of  outlaws,  to  be  leased  for  the 
Crown,  and  the  collector  of  the  hundred  where  it  lies  ordered 
to  seize  my  rents,  and  lease  it  in  the  name  of  the  Government, 
and  yet  though  I  am  not  convicted  or  outlawed.     .     .     . 

"I  know  mine  enemies,  and  their  true  character  and  history, 
and  their  intrinsic  value  to  this  or  other  Governments.  I  com- 
mit them  to  time  wuth  my  own  conduct  and  afflictions."  ^ 

I  commenced  these  remarks  with  Lord  Macaulay's  own 
record  of  the  judgment  of  posterity  on  the  character  of 
William  Penn — I  conclude  them  with  the  echo  of  that  judg- 
ment which  comes  back  clear  and  distinct  over  the  broad 
waves  of  the  Atlantic. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  the  history  of  the  human  race  like  the 
confidence  which  the  simple  virtues  and  institutions  of  William 
Penn  inspired.     .     .     . 

"  After  more  than  a  century,  the  laws  which  he  reproved 
began  gradually  to  be  repealed,  and  the  principle  which  he 
developed,  secure  of  immortality  is  slowly  but  firmly,  assert- 
ing its  power  over  the  Legislature  of  Great  Britain.  .  .  . 
Every  charge  of  hypocrisy,  of  selfishness,  of  vanity,  of  dissimu- 
lation, of  credulous  confidence — every  form  of  reproach,  from 
virulent  abuse  to  cold  apology — every  ill  name,  from  Tory 
and  Jesuit  to  blasphemer  and  infidel,  has  been  used  against 
Penn — but  the  candour  of  his  character  always  triumphed 
over  calumny. 

»  Penn's  Letter  to ,  1693  ;  Jauney's  Life  of  Penn,  .S79. 


APPENDIX    TO    WILLIAM    PENN.  197 

"His  name  was  safely  cherished  as  a  household  word  in 
the  cottages  of  Wales  and  Ireland,  and  among  the  peasantry 
of  Germany ;  and  not  a  tenant  of  a  wigwam,  from  the  sea  to 
the  Susquehanna,  doubted  his  integrity. 

"  Ilis  fame  is  now  wide  in  the  world :  he  is  one  of  the  few 
who  have  gained  abiding  glory/' ^ 


APPENDIX    TO    WILLIAM    PENN. 


No.  I. 

His  Majesty's  gracious  Declaration  to  all  his  loving  Subjects 
for  Liberty  of  Conscience. 

James  li. 

It  having  pleased  Almighty  God  not  only  to  bring  us 
to  tho  imperial  crown  of  theso  kingdoms  through  the  greatest 
difficulties,  but  to  preserve  us  by  a  more  than  ordinary  providence 
upon  the  throne  of  our  royal  ancestors,  there  is  nothing  now  that 
we  so  earnestly  desire  as  to  establish  our  Government  on  such  a 
foundation  as  may  make  our  subjects  happy,  and  unite  them  to  us 
by  inclination  as  well  as  duty,  which  we  think  may  be  done  by  no 
means  so  ellectually  as  by  granting  to  them  the  free  exercise  of  their 
religion  for  the  time  to  come  ;  and  add  that  to  the  perfect  enjoy- 
ment of  their  property,  which  has  never  been  in  any  case  invaded 
by  us  since  our  coming  to  the  crown — which  being  the  two  things 
men  value  most,  shall  ever  be  preserved  in  these  kingdoms,  during 
our  reign  over  them,  as  the  truest  methods  of  their  peace  and  our 
glory.  \Ve  cannot  but  heartily  wish,  as  it  will  easily  be  believed, 
that  all  the  people  of  our  dominions  were  members  of  the  Cathohck 
Church  ;  yet  we  humbly  thank  Almighty  God  it  is,  and  hath  of 
long  time  been  our  constant  desire  and  opinion  (which,  upon  diverse 
occasions  wo  have  declared),  that  conscience  ought  not  to  be  con- 
strained, nor  people  forced  in  mattcM-s  of  mere  religion.     It  has  ever 

'  Bancroft's  Histoiy  U.  S.,  ii.  381,  400  ;  .Inmicy,  Life  of  rciin,  507. 


11)8  THE   NEW    "  EXAM  EN. 

1)(5cn  (lirootly  contrary  to  our  inclination,  a«  wc  tliink  it  in  to  tho 
iiiliTcst  of  (lovcrnmcnt,  whicli  it  destroys  by  spoilin;,'  tradcj,  do- 
poiiidating  countries,  ami  discouraging  strangers;  and  finally,  that 
it  never  obtained  the  end  for  wliich  it  was  employed.  And  in  tliia 
wo  are  tho  more  confirmed  l)y  the  reflections  we  have  ma^lc  upon 
tlio  conduct  of  the  four  last  reigns ;  for  after  all  the  frequent  and 
pressing  endeavours  that  were  used  in  each  of  them  to  reduce  this 
kingdom  to  an  exact  conformity  in  religion,  it  is  visildc  the  success 
lias  not  answered  the  design,  and  that  the  difficulty  is  invincible. 
Wo  therefore,  out  of  our  princely  care  and  affection  unto  all  our 
loving  subjects,  that  they  may  live  at  ease  and  quiet,  and  for  the 
increase  of  trade  and  encouragement  of  strangers,  have  thought  fit, 
by  virtue  of  our  royal  prerogative,  to  issue  forth  this  our  royal 
Declaration  of  Indulgence,  making  no  doubt  of  the  concurrence  of 
our  two  Houses  of  Parliament,  when  we  shall  think  it  convenient 
for  them  to  meet. 

In  the  first  place,  we  do  declare  that  we  shall  protect  and  main- 
tain our  archbishops,  bishops,  and  clergy,  and  all  other  our  subjects 
of  tho  Church  of  England,  in  the  free  exercise  of  their  religion  as 
by  law  established,  and  in  the  quiet  and  full  enjoyment  of  all  their 
possessions,  without  any  molestation  or  disturbance  whatsoever. 

We  do  likewise  declare,  that  it  is  our  royal  will  and  pleasure 
that  from  henceforth  the  execution  of  all  and  all  manner  of  penal 
laws  in  matters  ecclesiastical,  for  not  coming  to  Church,  or  not 
receiving  the  Sacrament,  or  for  any  other  nonconformity  to  the 
religion  established,  or  for  or  by  reason  of  the  exercise  of  religion 
in  any  manner  whatsoever,  be  immediately  suspended :  and  the 
further  execution  of  the  said  penal  laws,  and  every  of  them,  is 
hereby  suspended. 

And  to  the  end  that  by  the  liberty  hereby  granted,  the  peace 
and  security  of  our  Government  in  the  practice  thereof  may  not  bo 
endangered,  we  have  thought  fit,  and  do  hereby  strictly  charge  and 
command  all  our  loving  subjects,  that,  as  we  do  freely  give  them 
leave  to  meet  and  serve  God  after  their  o^\'n  way  and  manner,  be  it 
in  private  houses  or  in  places  purposely  hired  or  built  for  that  use, 
so  that  they  may  take  especial  care  that  nothing  be  preached  or 
taught  among  them  which  may  any  ways  tend  to  alienate  the 
hearts  of  our  people  from  us  or  our  Government ;  and  that  their 
meetings  and  assemblies  be  peaceably,  openly,  and  publicly  held, 
and  all  persons  freely  admitted  to  them  :  and  that  they  do  signify 
and  make  known  to  some  one  or  more  of  tho  next  justices  of  the 
peace  what  place  or  places  they  set  apart  for  those  uses. 


APPENDIX    TO    WILLIAM    PENN.  19'J 

And  that  all  our  subjects  may  enjoy  such  their  religious  assem- 
blies with  greater  assurance  and  protection,  we  have  thought  it 
requisite,  and  do  hereby  command,  that  no  disturbance  of  any  kind 
be  made  or  given  to  them,  under  pain  of  our  displeasure,  and  to  be 
further  proceeded  against  with  the  utmost  severity.  And  foras- 
much as  we  are  desirous  to  have  the  benefit  of  the  service  of  all  our 
loving  subjects,  which,  by  the  law  of  nature  is  inseparably  annexed 
to,  and  inherent  in  our  royal  person,  and  that  none  of  our  subjects 
may  for  the  future  be  under  any  discouragement  or  disability  (who 
are  otherwise  well  inclined  and  fit  to  serve  us),  by  reason  of  some 
oaths  or  tests  that  have  been  usually  administered  on  such  occa- 
sions, we  do  hereby  further  declare  that  it  is  our  royal  will  and 
pleasure  that  the  oaths  commonly  called  the  Oaths  of  Supremacy 
and  Allegiance,  and  also  the  several  tests  and  declarations  men- 
tioned in  the  Acts  of  Parhament  made  in  the  twenty-fifth  and 
thirtieth  years  of  the  reign  of  our  late  royal  brother,  King  Charles 
the  Second,  shall  not  at  any  time  hereafter  be  required  to  be  taken, 
declared,  or  subscribed  by  any  person  or  persons  whatsoever,  who 
is  or  shall  be  employed  in  any  ofiice  or  place  of  trust,  either  civil 
or  military,  under  us  or  in  our  Government.  And  we  do  further 
declare  it  to  be  our  pleasure  and  intention,  from  time  to  time  here- 
after, to  grant  our  royal  dispensations  under  our  Great  Seal  to  all 
our  loving  subjects  so  to  be  employed  who  shall  not  take  the  said 
oaths,  or  subscribe  or  declare  the  said  tests,  or  declarations  in  the 
above-mentioned  Acts,  and  every  of  them. 

And  to  the  end  that  all  oui-  loving  subjects  may  derive  and  enjoy 
the  full  benefit  and  advantage  of  our  gracious  indidgence  hereby 
intended,  and  may  be  acquitted  and  discharged  from  all  pains, 
penalties,  forfeitures,  and  disabilities  by  them,  or  any  of  them, 
incurred  or  forfeited,  or  which  they  shall  or  may  at  any  time  here- 
after be  liable  to,  for  or  by  reason  of  their  nonconformity,  or  the 
exercise  of  their  religion,  and  from  all  suits,  troubles,  or  disturbances 
for  the  same  ;  we  do  hereby  give  our  free  and  ample  pardon  unto 
all  Nonconformists,  Kecusants,  and  other  our  loving  subjects,  for 
all  crimes  and  things  by  them  committed,  contrary  to  the  penal 
laws  formerly  made  relating  to  religion,  and  the  profession  or  exer- 
cise thereof,  hereby  dcclaiing  that  this  our  royal  pardon  and 
indemnity  shall  be  as  good  and  ellectual  to  all  intents  and  jnirposes, 
as  if  every  individual  person  had  Iwen  therein  particularly  named, 
or  had  particular  pardons  under  our  Great  Seal ;  which  we  do 
likewise  declare  shall  from  time  to  time  bo  granted  unto  any  person 
or  i)ersons  desiring  the  same;  wiDing  and  requiring  our  judges, 


200  TirK    Ni:\V    "  KXAMKN. 

juaticoH,  and  (itlicr  officers,  to  take  notice  of,  and  <jl)ey  our  royal 
will  and  jdfasiirf*  Imrcin-bcforo  dcclanid. 

And  although  tlie  freedom  and  assurance  wc  have  hereby  given 
in  relation  to  religion  antl  property  might  be  sufficient  to  remove 
from  tlio  minds  of  oiu  loving  subjects  all  fears  and  jf^alousies  in 
relation  to  cither,  yet  we  have  thought  fit  further  to  declare,  that 
we  will  maintain  them  in  all  their  properties  and  possessions,  as 
well  of  (Jhurch  and  Abbey  lands  as  in  any  other  their  lands  and 
properties  whatsoever. 

Given  at  our  Coijtft  at  Whitehall,  the  fourth  day  of  April  1G87, 
in  the  third  year  of  our  reign.  By  his  Majesty's  special 
command. 


No.  IT. 

"William  Penn's  Speech  to  the  King  upon  delivering  the 
Quakers'  Address. 

May  it  please  the  King, — 

It  was  the  saying  of  our  blessed  Lord  to  the  captious  Jews  in 
the  case  of  tribute,  "  Eender  to  Caesar  the  things  that  are  Ccesar's, 
and  to  God  the  things  that  are  God's."  As  this  distinction  ought 
to  be  observed  by  all  men  in  the  conduct  of  their  lives,  so  the  King 
has  given  us  an  illustrious  example  in  his  own  person  that  excites 
us  to  it ;  for  Avhilc  he  was  a  subject  he  gave  Csesar  his  tribute,  and 
now  he  is  a  Caesar,  gives  God  his  due — viz.  the  sovereignty  over 
conscience.  It  were  a  great  shame  then  for  any  Englishman  (that 
professes  Christianity)  not  to  give  God  his  due.  By  this  grace  he 
hath  relieved  his  distressed  subjects  from  their  cruel  sufferings,  and 
raised  to  himseK  a  new  and  lasting  empire  by  adding  their  affections 
to  their  duty.  And  we  pray  God  to  continue  the  King  in  this 
noble  resolution  ;  for  he  is  now  upon  a  principle  that  has  good- 
nature, Cliristianity,  and  the  good  of  civil  society,  on  its  side — a 
security  to  him  beyond  the  little  arts  of  Government. 

I  would  not  that  any  should  think  that  we  came  hither  with 
design  to  fill  the  '  Gazette '  with  our  thanks ;  but  as  our  sufferings 
would  have  moved  stones  to  compassion,  so  we  should  be  harder  if 
we  were  not  moved  to  gratitude. 

Xow  since  the  King's  mercy  and  goodness  have  reached  to  us 
throughout  the  Kingdom  of  England  and  Principality  of  Wales, 
our  General  Assembly  from  all  those  parts  met  at  London  about  our 


APPENDIX    TO    WILLIAM    PENN.  201 

Church  affairs,  has  appointed  us  to  wait  upon  the  King  with  our 
humble  thanks,  and  me  to  deliver  them,  wliicli  I  do  by  this  Ad- 
dress with  all  the  ailection  and  respect  of  a  dutiful  subject. 


The  Address. 

To  King  Jamks  the  Second,  over  England,  &c.,  the  humble  and 
grateful  Acknowledgment  of  his  peaceable  subjects,  called 
Quakers,  in  this  kingdom,  from  their  usual  yearly  fleeting  in 
London,  the  nineteenth  day  of  the  third  month,  vulgarly  called 
May,  1687;— 

We  cannot  but  bless  and  praise  the  name  of  Almighty  God,  who 
hath  the  hearts  of  princes  in  his  hand,  that  he  hath  inclined  the 
King  to  hear  the  cries  of  his  suffering  subjects  for  conscience'  sake  ; 
and  we  rejoice  that,  instead  of  troubling  him  with  complaints  of  our 
sufferings,  he  hath  given  us  so  eminent  an  occasion  to  present  him 
with  our  thanks.  And  since  it  hath  pleased  the  King,  out  of  his 
great  compassion,  thus  to  commiserate  our  afflicted  condition,  which 
hath  so  particularly  appeared  by  his  gracious  proclamation  and  war- 
rants last  year,  wherehi/  hcelve  hundred  jmsrmers  tcerc  released  from, 
their  imprisonments,  and  many  others  from  spoil  and  ruin  in  their 
estates  and  properties ;  and  his  princely  speech  in  Council  and 
Christian  Declaration  for  Liberty  of  Conscience,  in  which  he  doth 
not  only  express  his  aversion  to  all  force  upon  conscience,  and  grant 
his  Dissenting  subjects  an  ample  liberty  to  Avorship  God  in  the  way 
they  are  persuaded  is  most  agreeable  to  His  will,  but  gives  them  his 
kingly  word  the  same  shall  continue  during  his  reign ; — we  do  (as 
our  friends  of  this  city  have  already  done)  render  the  King  our 
huiuble.  Christian,  and  tluudcful  acknowledgments,  not  only  in  be- 
half of  ourselves,  but  with  respect  to  our  friends  throughout  Eng- 
land and  "Wales  ;  and  i)ray  God  with  all  our  hearts  to  bless  and  pre- 
serve thee,  0  King,  and  those  under  thee,  in  so  good  a  work.  And 
as  wo  can  assure  the  King  it  is  well  accepted  in  the  several  counties 
from  whence  we  came,  so  we  hope  the  good  effects  thereof,  for  the 
peace,  trade,  and  prosperity  of  the  kingdom,  will  proditce  such  a 
concurrence  from  the  Parliament  as  may  secure  it  to  our  posterity 
in  after  times.  And  wliilo  we  live,  it  shall  be  our  endeavour 
(through  God's  grace)  to  demean  ourselves  as  in  conscience  to  God 
and  duty  to  the  King  we  are  obliged. 

His  pcaceabk',  loving,  ami  faithful  Subjects. 


2()j  TiiK  m;\v  "  i:xamen. 


Tin:  Kino's  Answer. 

(iKNTLEMEN, — I  tliank  you  licartily  for  your  Address.  Some  of 
you  know  (I  am  sure  you  do,  Mr  I'enii)  that  it  was  always  my  prin- 
ciple that  conscience  ought  not  to  bo  forced,  and  that  all  men  ought 
to  have  the  liberty  of  their  consciences ;  and  what  I  have  promised 
in  my  Declaration,  I  will  continue  to  perform  as  long  as  I  live ;  and 
I  hope,  before  I  die,  to  settle  it  so  that  after-ages  shall  have  no 
reason  to  alter  it. 


No.  III. 

The  Dying  Speech  of  Robert  Francis,  of  Gray's  Inn,  Esq.,  JiUy 
24,  1685,  delivered  by  his  own  hand  to  the  Ordinary  at  the 
place  of  Execution,  desiring  the  same  might  be  published. 

I  am  here,  by  the  divine  permission  and  providence  of  God,  be- 
come a  spectacle  to  God,  angels,  and  men,  for  a  rash,  extravagant, 
and  imprudent  act,  wherein  I  do  confess  I  have  not  only  offended 
against  the  Government  and  courts  of  justice,  but  against  Christi- 
anity, and  even  the  rules  of  morality  itself.  Nevertheless  (I  hope), 
not  only  the  Court,  but  all  unbiassed  men,  from  the  several  circum- 
stances of  the  fact,  are  satisfied  that  I  had  no  malicious  intent  of 
doing  Avhat  fcU  out,  nor  had  any  grudge  or  personal  prejudice  to 
him  upon  any  account  whatsoever,  more  than  what  all  honest  and 
good  men  could  not  but  have  that  love  the  King  and  the  Govern- 
ment. The  solemn  truth  of  all  which  I  have  declared,  not  only 
upon  the  holy  sacrament  I  received  from  ^Ir  Master,  but  also  that 
I  never  knew  nor  saw  him  before  that  unhappy  moment,  save  once 
at  a  distance  in  the  pillory  at  Westminster,  and  do  now,  as  a  dying 
man,  solemnly  avow  and  protest  the  same.  I  therefore,  I  hope, 
I  may  boldly  say,  I  am  not  conscious  of  any  gudt  before  God  as  to 
the  malice.  However,  God  in  Ilis  great  wisdom  has  been  pleased 
to  suffer  this  great  calamity  to  fall  upon  me,  and  I  hope  this  His 
severe  chastisement  is  in  order  to  bring  me  to  Himself,  when  softer 
means  had  not  sufficiently  done  it.  All  them  that  know  me  (I  am 
sure)  will  do  me  that  justice  as  to  believe  I  am  far  from  having 
done  it  cither  wilfully  or  mercenarily  (as  most  untndy  is  reported). 


APPENDIX   TO    WILLIAM    PENN.  203 

And  that  these  honourahle  persons  are  above  the  thoughts  of  such 
unworthy  things,  for  which  they  have  been  as  niaHciously  as  falsely 
traduced  upon  my  score ;  I  beg  their  pardon  for  the  scandal  I  have 
unhappily  been  the  occasion  of,  and  desire  this  acknowledgment 
may  be  by  them  accepted  as  a  reparation,  since  to  disown  it  at  this 
time  of  my  death  is  all  the  satisfaction  I  am  able  to  make  them. 
As  to  my  religion  (however  I  have  been  represented),  there  are 
people  that  knew  me  at  the  university,  and  since  that  can  be  my 
witnesses,  how  obedient  and  zealous  a  son  of  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land (by  law  established)  I  have  been.     And  these  worthy  divines 
that  did  me  the  favour  to  visit  me  in  affliction,  will  give  the  world 
an  account  (as  occasion  serves)  of  my  integrity  therein  ;  and  if  I  had 
been  as  zealous  in  the  service  of  God  as  my  prince.  He  would  not 
have  left  me  so  much  to  myself  as  to  have  permitted  me  to  have 
fallen  into  this  unexpected  extremity.     And  as  for  my  morals,  the 
honourable  Society  of  Gray's  Inn  will  answer  for  me,  that  in  above 
these  twelve  years'  time  I  have  had  the  honour  of  being  admitted  a 
member  of  that  Society,  I  never  had  any  quarrel  or  controversy 
with  any  member  thereof ;  and  all  persons  with  whom  I  have  had 
conversation,  I  question  not,  will  give  a  good  character  of  my  inno- 
cent and  peaceable  behaviour.     I  pray  God  Almighty  preserve  and 
bless   his   most   sacred   Majesty,  his   royal   consort  (^ueen   ^lary, 
Catherine  the  Queeu-Dowager,  their  royal  highnesses,  and  all  the 
royal  family  ;  and  grant  that  there  may  never  want  one  of  that 
royal  lino  to  sway  the  sceptre  of  these  kingdoms  as  long  as  sun 
and  moon  endure.   In  the  union  and  love  of  his  subjects,  strengthen 
him  that  he  may  vanquish  and  overcome  aU  his  enemies,  which  I 
am  glad  to  have  seen  so  much  prospect  of,  and  am  only  sorry  I  am 
cut  oir  from  seeing  my  so-much-desired  satisfaction  of  those  happy 
days  all  his  good  subjects  will  enjoy  under  his  auspicious  govern- 
ment.    I  pray  God  forgive  mo  my  sins  that  have  made  mo  un- 
worthy of  that  blessing.     Blessed  be  the  Lord  that  I  have  lived  so 
as  not  to  be  ashamed  to  live,  or  afraid  to  die ;  though  I  cannot  but 
regret  my  being  made  a  sacrifice  to  the  faction  who,  I  am  satisfied, 
are  the  only  people  that  will  rejoice  in  my  ruin ;  for  there  is  no 
man  that  loves  his  prince,  but  will  lament  that  nothing  less  than 
the  blood  of  an  inolfcnsive  man  (save  in  this  single  extravagance) 
can  satisfy  them  for  the  sudden  intemperate  transport  of  zeal  and 
passion  against  one  so  notoriously  wicked  and  infamous ;  for  I  do 
protest,  before  Almighty  God  (before  whom  I  shall  immediately  ap- 
pear), that  when  I  went  to  the  coach-side  I  did  not  intend  so  much 
as  to  speak  to  him,  or  believe  I  could  have  had  opportunity  of  so 


201  THIO    NKW    "  JOXAMEN. 

doing,  much  less  of  doing  liiin  any  lirirm.  Neither  is  it  probahlc  I 
shdiild,  with  a  small  hamhoo-canf,  no  bigger  than  a  man's  little  finger, 
without  any  inm  upon  it,  much  less  a  dart  in  it,  as  it  was  most 
industriously  spread  abroad  to  prejudice  me  in  the  opinion  of  tho 
world  ;  for  if  I  had  had  such  a  wicked  design  intentionally,  I  had  a 
little  short  sword  by  my  side  much  more  proper  for  such  a  purpose. 
And  further,  if  I  had  believed  or  known  that  I  had  done  any  harm 
to  him,  I  had  opportunity  enough  of  escaping  afterwards,  which  I 
never  endeavoured.  Now,  all  these  things  being  duly  weighed  with 
their  several  circumstances,  I  leave  my  sad  case  to  the  considera- 
tion of  all  sober  and  charitaldc  men.  However,  I  would  not  have 
this  to  be  interpreted  as  a  rcllection  upon  the  Court,  who,  I  doubt 
not,  are  by  this  time  satisfied  (and  Mr  Recorder  did  in  open  Court 
declare)  that  in  their  consciences  they  did  not  believe  I  maliciously 
designed  him  the  mischief  that  happened,  but  that  it  was  purely 
accidental.  But  in  the  strict  construction  of  law,  I  was  found  guilty 
of  murder.  But  that  which  most  sensibly  alllicts  me,  and  is  worse 
to  me  than  death,  that  I  cannot  sutler  alone,  but  that  they  have  not 
only  raised  scandals  upon  me  in  particular  preparatory  to  it,  but 
upon  my  poor  innocent  wife,  as  if  my  jealousy  of  her  had  been  tlie 
reason  of  my  animosity  to  Dangerfield,  when  I  am  moraUy  certain 
she  never  saw  him  in  her  whole  life,  save  that  fatal  moment,  and 
no  couple  (as  hundreds  can  witness)  have  lived  in  better  correspon- 
dence. And  besides  that,  she  is  as  virtuous  a  woman  as  lives,  and 
born  of  so  good  and  loyal  a  family,  that  if  she  had  been  so  inclined, 
she  would  have  scorned  to  have  prostituted  herself  to  such  a  profli- 
gate person ;  but,  on  the  contrary  (God  is  my  witness),  I  never  had 
any  such  thoughts  of  her,  and  do  as  verily  believe,  as  there  is  a  God 
in  heaven,  I  never  had  any  reason,  she  having  always  been  the  most 
indulgent,  kind,  and  loving  wife  that  ever  man  had,  and,  in  my  con- 
science, one  of  the  best  of  women  ;  nay,  I  am  so  far  from  suspecting 
her  virtue,  that  she  is  the  only  loss  I  regret  on  earth,  and  can  freely 
part  with  everything  else  here  below  without  repining,  which  in  all 
my  trouble  I  have  owned  before  all  people,  and  pai-ticularly  ]Mr 
IMaster,  ^Mr  Ordinary,  and  Mr  Smithies  of  Cripplcgate,  who  can  all 
testify  those  tears  and  endeared  expressions  that  have  passed  be- 
tween us  when  any  of  them  did  me  the  kindness  to  visit  me  in  my 
distress.  And  I  do,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  freely  forgive  the 
witnesses  that  swore  against  me  those  words  I  never  spoke ;  for,  as 
I  shall  answer  at  the  great  tribunal,  I  said  no  other  or  more  words 
than  these  :  How  now,  friend?  have  you  had  your  heat  this  morn- 
ing ]     For  all  the  ill  they  have  done  me,  give  them  repentance,  good 


APPENDIX    TO    WILLIAM    PENN.  20o 

God  !     Even  for  those  that  have  contributed  to  the  shedding  of  iiiy 
blood,  I  pray  Thee  shed  Tliy  bowels  of  mercy  ! 

I  do  heartily  thank  those  noble  and  honourable  persons,  and  all 
other  my  friends  that  have  so  charitably  interposed  with  his 
Majesty  on  my  behalf  (though  it  hath  proved  unsuccessful).  I 
pray  God,  nevertheless,  to  return  their  kind  endeavours  a  thousand- 
fold into  their  own  bosoms  !  Lord,  return  it  to  them  and  theirs  ! 
Lord  Jesus,  receive  my  soul !  Thy  will  be  done  on  earth,  as  it  is 
in  heaven.     Amen,  Amen,  Amen. 

Egbert  Francis. 


No.  IV. 

At  the  time  when  the  following  letters  were  written,  Mary 
held  supreme  authority  during  William's  absence  in  Ireland.  Sir 
William  Lockart  was  resident  in  London  for  "  Scots  afl'air.s,"  ^  and 
is  referred  to  by  Mary  in  an  autograph  letter  to  the  Earl  of  Melvill 
as  the  channel  of  confidential  communications.'^  Melvill  was  "the 
regular  organ  of  communication  between  Kensington  ami  the  autho- 
rities at  Edinburg."  ^ 

"The  Queen  is  of  opinion  now  ther  should  be  nothing  said  of 
this  conspiracie,  because  that  pople  may  fly  out,  if  they  have  anay 
force  to  goe  too ;  therefor,  all  that  must  be  said  is,  that  Annandall 
is  bailed  upon  his  surrender,  ther  being  no  evidance  against  him. 
Pray  yonr  Grace  cause  talc  (jrat  cair  of  Navell  Pain."  * 

The  kind  of  care  that  was  to  be  taken  of  Pain  appears  by  the 
following  letter,  written  during  the  same  month  by  Lockart  to 
Melvill  :— 

"  I  shold  wish  to  have  some  meaths  to  tak  niesurs  be,  and  tliat 
your  Grace  wold  lett  me  know  if  you  have  anay  considerable  pre- 
sumptions against  pople  lieir ;  thers  no  dout  you  may  have  them 
from  Navaill  Pain,  who  all  men  knous  to  knou  so  much  of  Ferguson 
and  thos  hear  as  may  hang  a  thousand  ;  but  except  you  j'nf  hhn  to 
the  tortur,  he  u-ill  sham  you  all.  Pray  you  2)^(1  him  in  such  hands 
as  will  have  no  pitie  on  him  ;  for  in  the  opinion  of  all  men  he  is  a 
desperat  cowardlie  fallou."  ^ 

'  Aug.  1690.     Leveu  and  Melvill  Papcr-s,  505. 

"  Levcn  and  Melvill  Papers,  459.  ^  Jlacaulay,  iii.  297. 

*  Leven  and  Melvill  Pa|icrs,  .fJlG  ;  Lockart  to  Melvill,  Au^'.  KiJIO. 
■'  P.  503.     Levcn  and  Melvill  Papers  ;  Sir  W.  Lockart  to  the  E.  of  Melvill. 
London,  30tli  Aug.  1G90. 


20r»  TIIR    NKW    "  KXAMEN." 

Williiim,  wlio  resumed  his  authority  on  his  return  from  Ireland 
in  Si!i>ltiiil)<  r,  showed  no  more  mercy  tlian  Mary  was  disposed  t<j 
(U).  On  tliu  lULh  of  J)ecemher  tlie  following,'  h'ttt^r,  direet  from  the 
King  to  the  Council  sitting  at  Edinhurgli,  was  read,  and  ordered  to 
1)0  recorded  :  • — 

"  W.  R. 

"  I{l(iirr  TRUSTY  AND  ENTIRELY  BeLOVED,  ETC., — 

"  Wlicreas  we  have  full  assurance,  upon  undeniable  evidence,  of  a 
horrid  plot  and  conspiracy  against  our  Government,  and  the  whole 
settlement  of  that,  our  ancient  kingdom,  for  introducing  the  autho- 
ritio  of  the  late  King  James  and  Popery  in  these  kingdoms,  and 
setting  up  an  entire  new  fonne  of  government,  whereof  there  has 
been  several  contrivers  and  managers  ;  and  Navill  Pain,  now  prisoner 
in  our  castle  of  Edinburgh,  hath  lykways  been  an  instrument  in 
that  conspiracie,  who,  having  neither  relation  nor  business  in  Scot- 
land, went  thither  on  purpose  to  maintain  a  correspondence,  and  to 
}iegotiat  and  promott  the  plott.  And  it  being  necessary,  for  the 
security  of  our  Government,  and  the  peace  and  satisfaction  of  our 
good  subjects,  that  these  foul  designs  be  discovered  :  Therefore  we 
doe  require  you  to  make  all  legal  inquirie  into  this  matter ;  and  we 
have  transmitted  several  papers  and  documents  for  your  information, 
some  whereof  have  been  read  amongst  you ;  and  particularly  wee 
doe  reqiure  you  to  examine  Navill  Penn  strictly  :  and  171  case  he 
prove  obstinate  or  disengenions,  that  yoti  proceed  against  him  to 
torture,  with  all  the  rigour  that  the  law  alloys  in  such  caises ;  and 
not  doubting  your  ready  and  vigorous  applications  for  the  furder 
discovery  of  what  so  much  concerns  the  public  safety,  we  bid  you 
heartily  ftirewell. — Given  at  our  Court  at  Kensingtone,  the  18th 
day  of  Xovember  (1G90),  and  of  our  reign  the  second  year,  by  his 
^Majesty's  command. 

(Sic  sub.)  "  Melville."  - 

The  Council  lost  no  time  in  carrying  into  effect  the  commands  of 
the  King,  and  how  faithfully  they  obeyed  his  wishes  appears  from 
the  following  letter  from  the  President,  the  Earl  of  Crawfurd,  to 
the  Earl  of  Melville,  written  on  the  very  day  on  which  the  torture 
Avas  inflicted,  and  whilst,  as  he  says,  his  "  stomach  was  out  of  tune," 
from  the  horrors  he  had  been  compelled  to  witness  : — 

'  10  State  Trials,  754.  -  Ibid. 


APPENDIX    TO    WILLIAM    PENN.  207 


Earl  of  Crafurd  to  the  Earl  of  ^fELViLL, 
11  th  December  IGiiO. 
My  Lord, 

Yesterday,  in  the  afternoon,  Nevill  Penn  (after  near 
an  hour's  discourse  I  had  with  him  in  name  of  the  Council,  and  in 
their  presence,  thouj^h  at  several  times,  hy  turning  him  out,  and 
tlien  calling  him  in  again)  was  questioned  upon  some  things  that 
were  not  of  the  deepest  concern,. and  had  but  gentle  torture  given 
him,  being  resolved  to  repeat  it  tliis  day,  which  accordingly,  about 
six  in  the  evening,  we  inflicted  on  both  thumbs  and  one  of  his 
leggs,  with  all  the  severity  that  was  consistent  Avith  humanity,  even 
unto  that  pitch  that  we  could  not  preserve  life  and  have  gone 
further,  but  without  the  least  success  ;  for  his  answers  to  our  whole 
interrogators  that  were  of  any  import  were  negatives.  Yea,  he  was 
so  manly  and  resolute  under  his  suffering,  that  such  of  the  Council 
as  were  not  acquainted  with  all  the  evidences,  were  brangled,  and 
began  to  give  him  charitie  that  he  might  be  innocent.  It  was  sur- 
prising to  me  and  others  that  flesh  and  blood  could,  without  faint- 
ing, and  in  contradiction  to  the  grounds  we  had  insinuat  of  our 
knowledge  of  his  accession  in  matters,  endure  the  heavy  penance 
he  was  in  for  two  houres  ;  nor  can  I  suggest  any  other  reason  than 
this,  that  by  his  religion  and  its  dictates,  he  did  conceive  he  was 
acting  a  thing  not  only  generous  towards  his  friends  and  accom- 
plices, but  likewise  so  meritorious  that  he  would  thereby  save  his 
soule,  and  be  canonised  among  their  saints.  My  stomach  is  truly 
so  far  out  of  tune  by  being  a  witness  to  an  act  so  farr  cross  to  my 
natural  temper,  that  I  am  fitter  for  rest  than  anything  ells ;  nor 
could  any  less  than  the  danger  from  such  conspirators  to  the  person 
of  our  incomparable  King,  and  the  safety  of  his  government,  pre- 
vailed over  me  to  have  in  the  Council's  name  been  the  prompter  of 
the  executioner  to  increase  the  torture  to  so  high  a  pitch.  I  leave 
it  to  other  hands  to  acquaint  your  Lop.  how  severals  of  our  number 
were  shie  to  consent  to  the  torture,  and  left  the  Board  when  by  a 
vote  they  were  overruled  in  this.  I  shal  not  deny  them  my  charitie, 
that  this  was  an  effect  of  the  gentleness  of  their  nature,  though 
some  others  of  a  more  jealous  temper  than  I  am  put  truly  another 
construction  upon  it.  Penn  does  now  crave  banishment  for  a  year 
to  Holland,  iinder  a  deep  pcnaltic.  I  think  he  would  willingly 
stoop  to  it  that  it  were  under  the  pain  of  death  ;  but  I  am  no  agent 
for  him,  and  only  speaks  out  his  own  words,  which,  after  liis  torture, 


20S  TIIK    N'KW    "  KXAMKN." 

he  (Icsinil  I  iiiiL;lit  rcpn^smt  to  my  iii.istcr,  for  the  .sake  of  Gfxl, 
which  1  no  M'.iy  ciij,'a}.;(;il  for;  and  only  actiuaints  your  Lop.  that 
you  havo  the  outmost  information  in  tliis  matter  that  can  be  given 
you  by,  my  dear  Lord,  your  Lops,  ever  faithfull  and  affectionate 
humble  servant, 

Crafurd.* 

Mary  was  certainly  as  responsible  for  these  atrocities  as  her  father 
was  for  those  committed  by  Jeffreys  in  the  west ;  and  William,  as 
we  have  seen,  .t,'ave  distinct  and  particular  orders  for  their  perjjetra- 
tion.  In  addition  to  the  stain  of  Glencoe,  he  bears  the  double  brand 
of  being  the  last  monarch  of  Great  Britain  in  whose  reign  torture 
was  employed  to  obtain  evidence  of  treason,  and  who  brought  a 
subject  to  the  block  by  means  of  a  Bill  of  Attainder.- 

Those  who  wish  to  form  an  estimate  of  the  degree  of  fairness 
with  which  Lord  !Macaiday  holds  the  balance,  and  awards  the  judg- 
ment of  history,  cannot  do  better  than  study  the  account  he  gives 
of  these  transactions,  and  observe  his  total  suppression  of  the  part 
played  by  William  and  Mary,  and  his  denunciation  of  the  conduct 
of  their  agent  Crawfurd,  who  at  least  felt  disgust  at  the  share  he 
was  compelled  to  take.^ 

1  Leven  and  Melvill  Papers,  582— Baniiatyne  Club  Puhlications. 

2  Macaulay,  iv.  7C9.  3  jj,;,]^  jj;    700. 


209 


POSTSCRIPT. 


When  'The  New  Exameu'  first  appeared  in  the  year  1861, 
it  was  immediately  made  the  subject  of  a  hostile  criticism  in 
the  pages  of  the  '  Edinburgh  Review.' 

Had  the  writer  of  tKe  article  referred  to  pointed  out  a  single 
case  in  which  I  had  made  an  assertion  without  giving  an 
authority, — had  he  shown  that  I  had  been  guilty  of  any  mis- 
take or  inaccuracy  with  regard  to  any  one  of  those  authorities 
— had  he  produced  one  scrap  of  new  evidence,  or  thrown  one 
ray  of  light  on  that  which  is  already  before  the  public, — he 
would  have  done  good  service  to  his  readers,  and  have  given 
me  an  opportunity,  of  which  I  should  gratefully  and  gladly 
have  availed  myself,  of  correcting  any  errors  into  which  I 
might  have  fallen.  As,  instead  of  this,  he  merely  filled  the 
pages  of  the  '  Review '  with  charges  of  ignorance,  self-suffi- 
ciency, carelessness,  and  bad  faith,  against  myself,  in  a  tone  of 
virulence  and  personality  which,  I  am  happy  to  say,  is  rarely 
to  be  found  in  that  periodical,  I  did  not  think  it  worth  while 
to  reply  on  matters  which  could  be  of  no  general  interest, 
or  avail  anything  in  the  minds  of  readers  who  think  for 
themselves — or  to  enter  the  arena  against  a  champion  who 
wielded  weapons  of  which  I  would  on  no  account  avail  myself, 
and  in  the  use  of  wliich  he  would  unquestionably  prove  my 
sujierior. 

I  am  content  to  rely  on  that  "  pettifogging  intimacy  with 
dates,  names,  and  trifling  matters  of  fact"  which  Sir  Arthur 
Wardour  found  so  troublesome  in  liis  controversies  with  i\Ir 

0 


210  TIIK    NEW    "  KXAMEN." 

.Ii)ii;i(li;iii  OMhiick,  and  wliicli  appears  to  havo  liad  tlio  samo 
ell'cct  on  the  temiici'  of  the  reviewer  as  it  had  on  that  ot"  tlie 
irritahlo  Baronet. 

I  liav(i  gone  carefully  through  the  foregoing  pages  many 
times,  and  have  not  found  it  necessary  to  alter  a  single  ma- 
terial word. 

J.  P. 

December  1873. 


VINDICATIONS 


I.  NELSON  AND   CAEACCIOLO 
II.  LADY   HAMILTON 

III.  THE  WIGTOWN  MARTYRS 

IV.  RECOLLECTIONS   OF   LORD   BYRON 

V.  LORD   BYRON  AND   HIS   CALUMNIATORS 


VINDICATIONS. 


I. 


NELSON   AND   CARACCIOLO.^ 


In  an  article  upon  Mr  Euskin's  '  Elements  of  Drawing '  in  our 
January  Number,^  we  had  occasion  to  refer  to  the  transactions 
that  took  place  in  the  Bay  of  Naples  in  the  year  1799,  upon 
which  Mr  Kuskin  had  grounded  a  malignant  insinuation 
against  the  character  of  Nelson.  We  expressed  the  surprise 
we  undoubtedly  felt,  and  still  feel,  that  any  one  should  be  found 
to  repeat  the  slanders  we  allude  to  since  the  publication  of  Sir 
Harris  Nicolas's  'Nelson  Despatches.'  It  appears,  however, 
that  we  had  assumed  too  much.  A  highly  respectable  journal 
challenges  us  to  proof  of  the  grounds  of  our  belief,  and  assures 
us  that  "  those  slanders "  are  "  still  regarded  by  many  as  in- 
disputable truths, — amongst  others,  by  the  editor  of  Eose's 
*  Diaries  and  Correspondence.' "  ^ 

We  feel  obliged  to  the  '  Spectator '  for  having  directed  our 
attention  to  this  passage  in  so  recent  a  work.  It  contains  a 
rdchiiuffd  of  all  the  exploded  calumnies  against  Nelson,  proving 
both  that  the  writer  is  in  utter  ignorance  of  such  a  book  as  the 
'  Nelson  Despatches '  ever  having  issued  from  the  press,  and 
that  the  roots  of  the  calumny  have  struck  deeper  than  we  had 
supposed.  The  reverend  editor  of  the  Correspondence  is  not 
nice  as  to  liis  language.     He  sums  up  half-a-dozen  pages  of 

^  Blackwood's  Magazine,  March  1860.     '  &qk post,  "Essays  on  Art,"  No.  1. 
3  Spectator,  January  7,  1860. 


214  VINDICATIONS. 

I  Pharisaical  slip-slop  with  the  following  words:  "On  his  re- 
turn to  Naples,  Nelson  dishonoured  his  character  and  sullied 
his  f,dory  by  listening  to  the  violent  counsels  of  a  woman 
whose  passionate  zeal  for  her  friends  overleaped  all  the  boun- 
daries not  only  of  discretion  but  of  justice.  lie  became  her 
accoitiplice  in  iwrfidy  and  murder."  ^ 

Peufidy  and  Murder  ! — "  By  my  troth,  captain,  these  are 
very  bitter  words."  If  true,  Nelson  should  have  been  hanged 
at  the  yard-arm  of  his  own  ship  ;  and  instead  of  feeling  a  thrill 
of  pride  and  exultation,  we  ought  to  bow  our  heads  in  deep 
abasement  when  his  name  is  mentioned.  If  false,  every  man 
who  repeats  the  slander  incurs  a  deep  responsibility.  The 
character  of  her  heroes  is  the  most  precious  heritage  of  a 
nation ;  and  of  all  the  sons  of  England,  not  one  is  so  dear  to 
noble  and  generous  spirits  as  he  who  fell  at  Trafalgar.  The 
glory  of  Wellington  may  command  a  deeper  reverence,  the 
genius  of  Marlborough  a  more  profound  admiration,  but  our 
hearts  are  given  to  Nelson.  We  therefore  readily  adopt  the 
suggestion  of  the  wTiter  in  the  'Spectator,'  that  we  should 
"  devote  a  special  paper  to  the  establishment  of  a  fact  which 
all  Englishmen  would  so  gladly  believe  if  they  could;"  and  as 
the  only  sure  ground  for  such  belief,  we  shall  proceed  to  lay 
before  our  readers  as  concise  a  statement  as  possible  of  the 
facts  of  the  case,  and  of  the  position  of  affairs  in  the  Bay  of 
Naples  in  the  month  of  June  1799. 

The  King  had  fled  to  Palermo.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  say 
that  any  Government  at  all  existed  at  Naples.  The  French 
had  evacuated  the  city.  The  Piepublican  insurgents  had  been 
defeated.  The  castles  of  St  Elmo,  Uovo,  and  Xuovo  were,  how- 
ever, still  garrisoned  by  the  French,  and  many  of  the  principal 
Neapolitan  insurgents  had  taken  refuge  within  their  walls. 
The  EoyaUst  forces,  under  the  command  of  Cardinal  Euflb, 
ivhose  orders  from  the  King  loere  express  Twt  to  treat  with  reheh^^ 
were  engaged  in  an  attempt  to  reduce  those  castles.  Nelson, 
with  the  English  squadron,  was  at  sea  on  the  look-out  for  the 
French  fleet.     One  frigate  (the  Seahorse)  and  a  bomb  were  left 

*  Vol.  i.  218. 

2  Nelson  Despatches,  iii.  493.     Clarke  ami  M'Artliur,  ii.  175— 4to,  1809. 


NELSON   AND   CARACCIOLO.  215 

in  the  Bay  of  Naples  under  the  command  of  Captain  Foote, 
with  orders  to  co-operate  with  the  land  forces.  ^  On  the  19th 
of  June,  Captain  Foote,  to  his  great  surprise,  received  a  letter 
from  Cardinal  Euflb,  requesting  him  to  suspend  hostilities 
against  the  castles,  as  a  negotiation  had  taken  place.  After 
some  remonstrance  on  the  part  of  Captain  Foote,  and^  corre- 
spondence with  Cardinal  Euffo,  whose  fidelity  was,  to  say  the 
least,  gravely  suspected,  Captain  Foote  received  from  the  Car- 
dinal the  plan  of  a  capitulation  already  signed  by  him,  with  a 
request  to  the  Captain  that  he  would  also  affix  his  name.  This 
he  did,  returning  it  to  the  Cardinal  with  a  protest."  A  formal 
capitulation  was  signed  in  a  similar  manner  on  the  23d.^  It 
was  in  direct  contravention  of  the  orders  Cardinal  liuffo  had 
received.  It  provided,  in  substance,  that  the  garrisons  should 
march  out  with  all  the  honours  of  war ;  and  that  all  persons  in 
the  forts,  and  all  prisoners  taken  by  the  King's  troops,  should 
remain  unmolested  at  Naples,  or,  if  they  preferred  it,  should 
be  freely  conveyed  in  vessels,  to  be  provided  by  the  King,  to 
Toulon,  and  there  landed  and  set  at  liberty.  It  was  also  pro- 
vided expressly  that  the  evacuation  of  the  forts  "  should  not 
take  place  until  the  moment  of  embarkation."'* 

On  the  next  day,  the  24th,  hcforc  any  strj)  had  been  taken 
to  carry  the  capitulation  into  effect,^  Nelson,  with  a  powerful 
squadron,  entered  the  bay.  He  instantly  signalled  the  Sea- 
horse to  haul  doAvn  the  flag  of  truce.^  On  the  following  day, 
the  25th,  Nelson  sent  the  following  declaration  to  the  gar- 
risons of  the  two  castles : — 

"  Rear- Admiral  Lord  Nelson,  K.B,,  connnander  of  his  Bri- 
tannic INIajesty's  fleet  in  the  Bay  of  Naples,  acquaints  the  re- 
bellious subjects  of  his  Sicilian  Majesty  in  the  castles  of  Uovo 
and  Nuovo,  that  he  will  not  permit  them  to  embark  or  quit 
those  places.  They  must  surrender  themselves  to  his  IMajesty's 
royal  mercy.  Nelson." 

On  the  26th  Nelson  took  possession  of  the  castles  of  Uovo 

1  Nelson  Di'siatilu's,  iii.  Ap]..  C.  ='  Ibid.,  iii.   179. 

Mbia.,4SU.  Mbiil.,  487.  Mbi.l.,  495.  Mbid.,  494. 


2ir.  VINDICATIONS. 

aiul  Nuovu,  "  tlic  gai'risons  and  otJier  persmus  quittinr/  tJum  with 
full  knoirlalge  that  the  terms  of  the  cfipilulation  vovld  not  he 
carried  into  cxenUion  "  ^  They  were  detained  as  prisoners  un- 
til the  arrival  of  the  King  on  the  10th  of  July,  when  they  were 
given  up  to  tlie  Neapolitan  Government, 

Such  are  the  facts  with  regard  to  the  surrender  of  the  castles 
of  Uovo  and  Nuovo — the  transaction  on  which  the  charge  of 
"  perfidy  "  against  Nelson  has  been  grounded.  Upon  these  facts 
two  questions  arise — 

1.  Was  Nelson  justified  by  the  laws  of  war  and  nations  in 
annulling  the  capitulation  entered  into  by  liullb,  and  signed 
by  Captain  Foote  ? 

2.  Assuming  that  he  was  entitled  by  law  to  set  that  capitu- 
lation aside,  was  he  justified  in  honour  and  morality  in  doing  so  ? 

Nelson  cannot  be  acquitted  of  blame,  unless  both  these 
questions  are  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

The  first  is  purely  technical,  and  must  be  decided  by  the 
authority  of  jurists,  and  by  the  precedents  that  have  been 
acted  upon  in  other  cases.  "  Capitulations,"  says  ^Martens, 
"  are  obligatory,  unless  the  party  by  whom  they  are  executed 
has  exceeded  the  limits  of  the  power  with  which  he  was  in- 
trusted." -  Klliber  says — "  Capitulations  are  obligatory  with- 
out acceptance  or  ratification  by  the  respective  sovereigns, 
provided  that  the  commanding  officers  by  whom  they  are 
signed  have  acted  hona  fide,  and  not  exceeded  their  instruc- 
tions, or  acted  beyond  their  powers."  ^ 

Nothing  can  be  plainer  than  the  rule  thus  laid  down,  and 
we  shall  see  that  it  has  been  repeatedly  acted  upon.  After 
the  battle  of  Leipzig,  Marshal  Gouvion  Saint-Cyr  was  blockaded 
in  Dresden  by  forces  under  the  command  of  Count  Klenau. 
After  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  cut  his  way  through  the 
enemy,  a  capitulation  was  signed,  under  which  the  French 
garrison  of  Dresden  laid  down  their  arms,  and  set  out  on  their 
way  to  France,  on  parole  not  to  serve  against  the  allies  for 

^  Nelson  Despatches,  iii.  497. 

^  Prdcis  du  droit  des  gens,  liv.  ii.  C.  ii.  sec.  4S  ;  cited  Nelson  Despatches, 
iii.  496. 

'  Droit  des  gens  moJerne  de  I'Europe,  ii.  75,  sec.  276;  Nelson  Despatches, 
iii.  96. 


NELSON   AND   CAEACCIOLO.  217 

six  months.  After  proceeding  on  their  route  as  far  as  Alten- 
burg,  the  Marshal  was  informed  that  Prince  Schwarzenberg 
refused  to  Tatify  the  capitulation,  because  General  Klcnau  had 
no  authority  to  f/rant  conditions  so  unfavourable  to  the  allies. 
"  In  such  a  case/'  says  the  historian,  "  the  law  of  nations  re- 
quires that  everything  should  be  restored  to  the  state  in  which 
it  was  at  the  time  of  the  signature  of  the  capitulation."  An 
oiler  was  consequently  made  to  the  JMarshal  to  replace  him 
with  liis  troops,  arms,  and  munitions  of  war,  in  Dresden  ;  but 
he  preferred  to  surrender  the  advantageous  stipulations  he 
had  obtained  under  the  capitulation,  and  to  remain  with  his 
army  prisoners  of  war.^  A  similar  instance  occurred  in  the 
year  1813,  at  the  blockade  of  Dantzig, 

Here,  then,  we  find  distinct  authority  that  Nelson  was  jus- 
tified by  the  law  of  nations  in  the  course  he  had  adopted. 
Ruffo,  if  not  a  traitor  to  the  cause  of  his  sovereign,  which  there 
is  much  reason  to  believe,  and  which  Nelson  certainly  sus- 
pected, had  unquestionably  exceeded  his  authority,  liis  in- 
structions were  express  not  to  treat  with  rebels.^  Nelson, 
therefore,  who  held  at  this  time  supreme  command,  was  fully 
justified  by  law  in  setting  the  capitulation  aside.  The  case 
of  Dresden  goes  much  further  than  is  necessary  for  his  justifi- 
cation. There,  the  capitulation  had  been  acted  upon.  Here, 
before  any  step  whatever  had  been  taken  towards  carrying  it 
into  effect — before  the  status  quo  had  been  in  any  way  dis- 
turbed— it  was  notified  to  the  garrison  that  the  capitulation 
was  annulled.  They  surrendered  with  full  knowledge  that  it 
would  not  be  carried  into  execution. 

We  may  therefore  confidently  answer  the  first  question  in 
the  affirmative. 

We  now  come  to  the  consideration  of  the  second  question ; 
and  to  form  a  correct  judgment,  we  must  keep  in  mind  what 
the  precise  position  of  Nelson  was.  It  was  not  for  him  to 
determine  whether  the  course  adopted  by  the  Government  at 
home  was  wise  or  not.     To  him  the  French  wore  enemies,  and 

^  Ilistoire  al)iig6c  lU'S  Traitos  ile  Taix,  par  Kocli,  i.x.  310  ;  Nelson  De- 
spatclics,  iii.  497. 

2  Nelson  Despatches,  iii.  193. 


218  VINDICATIONS. 

tilt!  insurgent  Neapolitans  traitors  and  rebels.  The  King  was 
an  ally  to  he  laillirully  served — a  guest  to  be  loyally  protected. 
The  Queen  was  the  sister  of  the  murdered  Marie  Antoinette,  to 
whose  service  he  was  bound  by  all  the  laws  of  chivalry  and 
lionour.  With  these  feelings,  can  we  be  surprised  that  when  lie 
learned  that  Iluffo,  in  direct  violation  of  the  orders  of  his  sov- 
ereign, had  granted  favourable  terms  to  the  traitors  with  whom 
he  was  expressly  forbidden  to  treat,  and  that  a  British  officer 
had  unwillingly  affixed  his  name  to  what  he  felt  to  be  an 
"  infamous  "  capitulation,  he  instantly  exercised  his  powers  as 
commander-in-chief  and  annulled  the  disgraceful  instrument  ? 
It  unhappily  suited  the  purposes  of  a  party  at  home  to  make 
these  occurrences  the  occasion  of  attacks  upon  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  day.  On  the  3d  of  February  1800,  Fox,  during 
the  debate  on  the  Address,  brought  charges  of  the  foulest  de- 
scription, not  against  Nelson  by  name,  but  against  the  officers 
of  the  British  fleet  generally.  Immediately  upon  the  news  of 
this  attack  reaching  Nelson,  he  wrote  the  following  letter,  ad- 
dressed to  Mr  Davison : — 

"  Malta,  May  9th,  1800. 

"My  dear  Sir, — Mr  Fox  having,  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, in  February,  made  an  accusation  against  somebody,  for 
what  he  calls  a  breach  of  a  treaty  with  rebels,  which  had  been 
entered  into  by  a  British  officer,  and  having  used  language  un- 
becoming either  the  wisdom  of  a  senator  or  the  politeness  of  a 
gentleman,  or  an  Englishman,  who  ought  ever  to  suppose  that 
his  Majesty's  officers  would  always  act  with  honour  and  open- 
ness in  all  their  transactions ;  and  as  the  whole  affairs  of  the 
kingdom  of  Naples  were  at  the  time  alluded  to  absolutely 
placed  in  my  hands,  it  is  I  who  am  called  upon  to  explain  my 
conduct,  and  therefore  send  you  my  obsen'ations  on  the  in- 
famous armistice  entered  into  by  the  Cardinal ;  and  on  his 
refusal  to  send  in  a  joint  declaration  to  the  French  and  rebels, 
I  sent  in  my  note,  and  on  which  the  rebels  came  out  of  the 
castles,  as  they  ought,  and  as  I  hope  all  those  who  are  false  to 
their  king  and  country  will,  to  be  hanged,  or  otherwise  dis- 
posed of,  as  their  sovereign  thought  proper.  The  to'ms  granted 
hy  Captain  Footc,  of  the  Seahorse,  at  Cast el-d-M arc,  vxre  all 


NELSON    AND   CARACCIOLO.  219 

strictly  complied  with — the  rebels  having  surrendered  before  my 
arrival.  There  has  been  iKjthing  promised  by  a  British  officer 
that  his  Sicilian  Majesty  has  not  complied  with,  even  in  dis- 
obedience to  his  orders  to  the  Cardinal. — I  am,  &c., 

"Bkonte  Nelson  of  the  Nile." 

"  Show  these  papers  to  Mr  Eose,  or  some  other,  and  if 
thought  right,  you  will  put  them  in  the  papers." 

This  letter  was  immediately  communicated  by  Mr  Davison 
to  the  Ministry.^ 

There  is  one — and,  as  far  as  we  know,  one  only — other  letter 
from  Nelson  himself,  with  regard  to  these  transactions.  It  is 
addressed  to  Mr  Alexander  Stephens,  author  of  '  The  History 
of  the  Wars  of  the  French  Eevolution,'  in  reply  to  his  applica- 
tion for  information. 

"  23  Piccadilly,  Fch.  10,  1803. 

"  Sir, — By  your  letter  I  believe  you  wish  to  be  correct  in 
your  History,  and  therefore  wish  to  be  informed  of  a  trans- 
action relative  to  Naples.  I  cannot  enter  at  large  into  the 
subject  to  which  you  allude.  I  shall  briefly  say  that  neither 
Cardinal  llutib,  or  Captain  Foote,  or  any  other  person,  had  any 
power  to  enter  into  any  treaty  with  the  rebels — that  even  the 
paper  vjhich  they  signed  v:as  not  acted  upon,  as  I  very  happily 
arrived  at  Naples,  and  prevented  such  an  infamous  transaction 
from  taking  place  ;  therefore,  when  the  rebels  surrendered, 
they  came  out  of  the  castles  as  they  ought,  without  any 
honours  of  war,  and  trusting  to  the  judgment  of  their  sove- 
reign. /  ^??(<  aside,  and  sent  them  notice  of  it,  the  infamous 
treat)/ — and  the  rebels  surrendered,  as  I  have  before  said. 
K  you  attend  to  that  Mrs  Williams's  book,  I  can  assure 
you  that  nearly  all  relative  to  Na[)lcs  is  either  destitute  of 
foundation  or  falsely  represented. — 1  am,  sir,  &c., 

"Nelson." 

Those  two  short  letters  contain,  we  believe,  all  that  exists 
from  the  pen  of  Nelson  on  the  subject.    They  are  highly  char- 

1  Clarke  and  il 'Arthur,  ii.  182,  note. 


220  VINDICATIONS. 

actcristic  of  liis  mind.  We  see  how  manfully  he  assumes  the 
whole  responsibility  of  the  act ;  how  indi^mantly  ho  repels 
the  imputation  upon  the  honour  of  the  British  flag;  with 
what  clearness  he  seizes  at  once  on  the  real  and  important 
points. 

Kuffo  and  Foote  had  exceeded  their  authority  ;  he  there- 
fore was  entitled  to  annul  their  act.  But  that  was  not  enough 
to  satisfy  Nelson.  Had  the  capitulation  been  acted  upon  before 
his  arrival,  he  would  have  felt  himself  bound  by  it,  as  he  did 
in  the  case  of  the  surrender  of  Castel-iVMare.  He  therefore 
states  the  only  fact  necessary  for  his  justification — namely, 
that  no  step  whatever  had  been  taken  towards  carrying  the 
capitulation  into  effect,  when  he  amved  in  the  bay  and  an- 
nulled it.  This  is,  no  doubt,  the  important  point :  happily  it 
is  one  on  which  the  evidence  is  conclusive. 

Upon  the  copy  of  the  capitulation,  which  is  printed  in  ^liss 
Williams's  very  apocryphal '  Sketches,'  Nelson  wrote,  "  Never 
executed,  and  therefore  no  capitulation."  ^  In  the  two  letters 
we  have  just  cited,  written  at  considerable  intervals,  he  ex- 
pressly asserts  the  fact ;  and,  as  if  to  put  the  seal  of  confirma- 
tion upon  it,  he  refers  to  his  observance  of  similar  terms  at 
Castel-a-Mare,  whera  he  arrived  too  late  to  prevent  the  incep- 
tion of  the  execution  of  the  capitulation.  If  proof  of  Nelson's 
good  faith  were  needed,  it  would  be  furnished  in  the  most 
conclusive  way  by  this  fact. 

The  capitulation  was  signed  by  Captain  Foote  on  the  23d  of 
June.-  It  was  not,  however,  complete  until  it  had  been  ap- 
proved by  the  Commandant  of  Fort  St  Elmo,  who,  it  appears, 
did  not  affix  his  signature  until  the  following  day,  the  same 
day  that  Nelson  entered  the  bay.  The  flag  of  truce,  M'hich 
had  been  flying  on  the  Seahorse,  was  iustautly  hauled  down, 
and  this,  even  without  the  formal  notification  which  immedi- 
ately followed,  was  sufficient  intimation  to  the  garrisons  of 
the  forts  that  the  treaty  was  at  an  end.  The  statement  fur- 
nished by  Captain  Foote  to  Lord  Nelson  shows  that  nothing 
had  been  done  previously  to  the  24th  ;  for,  writing  on  the 

'  Nelson  Despatches,  iii.  495. 

^  Sec  his  letter  to  Chcv.  Micheroux — Nelson  Despatches,  iii.  4S6. 


NELSON    AND   CARACCIOLO.  221 

morning  of  that  day,  he  speaks  of  sending  the  polacres,  which 
were  to  receive  the  garrison,  as  an  act  which  was  to  be  per- 
formed at  a  future  time.  This  was  prevented  by  Nelson 
entering  the  bay.  The  forts  were  not  surrendered  until  the 
2Gth,^  the  day  after  Nelson's  formal  notification  that  the 
capitulation  was  annulled,  and  two  days  after  tlie  Hag  of  truce 
had  been  hauled  down. 

It  is  difficult  to  say  how  the  groundless  charge  that  the 
garrisons  had  been  induced  to  quit  the  forts  under  the  suppo- 
sition that  the  capitulation  was  still  in  force  first  arose,  but 
unquestionably  it  owed  the  general  currency  which  it  has 
obtained  to  Southey.  The  author  of  the  most  popular  bio- 
graphy of  Nelson,  instead  of  investigating  the  truth  of  the 
facts  he  was  narrating,  unhappily  contented  himself  with  the 
far  easier  task  of  composing  eloquent  and  indignant  moral 
reflections.  Still  more  unhappily,  the  wide  popularity  of  the 
book,  and  the  reputation  of  its  author  for  learning  and  re- 
search, have  induced  successive  historians  and  biographers 
to  adopt  the  statement  without  inquiry,  until,  by  constant 
repetition,  it  became  almost  an  article  of  popular  belief.  Hap- 
pily the  facts  are  now  fully  before  the  world  in  the  AppendLx 
to  the  third  volume  of  Sir  Harris  Nicolas's  '  Nelson  De- 
spatches ; '  and  we  shall  truly  rejoice  if  we  are  the  means  of 
directing  the  attention  of  our  readers  to  the  valuable  and 
conclusive  evidence  which  they  will  there  find,  that  the 
conduct  of  Nelson  in  regard  to  the  capitulation  of  the  castles 
of  Uovo  and  Nuovo  was  in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  his  noble 
and  humane  character. 

We  now  come  to  the  second  part  of  the  charge — namely, 
that  which  relates  to  the  death  of  Caracciolo. 

In  1801  a  book  appeared,  entitled  '  Sketches  of  the  State  of 
Manners,  &c.,  in  the  French  Eepublic,'  in  which  the  principles 
of  a  "  poissarde "  are  set  forth  with  the  rancour  of  an  old 
maid,  and  in  the  style  of  the  ^linerva  press.  One  of  the 
heroes  of  the  authoress  is  Prince  Caracciolo,  and  her  attempts 
to  excite  sympathy  with,  and  compassion  for,  that  very  worth- 
less person,  have,  unhajipily  f(ir  the  cause  of  truth,  been  but 

'  Log  of  the  Scahorai!— Nelson  Despatches,  iii.  491. 


222  VINDICATIONS. 

too  successful.  Caracciolo  has  consequently  been  very  gene- 
nilly  considered  an  object,  if  not  of  respect  and  admiration,  at 
liny  rate  of  pity.  A  very  few  facts  will  show  that  he  was 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  and  that  few  men  who  have 
passed  under  the  hands  of  the  hangman  ever  better  deserved 
that  fate. 

Caracciolo  was  a  cadet  of  a  noble  family  ;  he  held  a  com- 
mission as  Commodore  in  the  Neapolitan  navy,  and  had 
served  with  credit  against  the  French ;  he  thus  became  ac- 
quainted with  Nelson  and  other  officers  of  the  English  fleet. 
In  December  1798,  when  the  royal  family  left  Naples,  Car- 
acciolo commanded  one  of  the  vessels  which  conveyed  their 
suite  to  Palermo,^  and  remained  there  in  the  service  of  the 
King,  and  holding  his  commission  as  Commodore,  until  the 
new  Parthenopian  Eepublic  published  an  edict  that  the 
estates  of  all  such  persons  as  did  not  return  to  Naples  should 
be  forfeited :  upon  this  Caracciolo  solicited,  and  obtained,  the 
King's  permission  to  return,  for  the  purpose  of  avoiding  the 
confiscation  of  his  property.  Inmiediately  upon  his  amval 
at  Naples,  he  committed  the  treason  to  which  his  life  was 
ultimately  forfeited.  His  eulogist.  Miss  Williams,  narrates 
this  infamous  act  in  the  following  words : — 

"  The  Kepublic,  proud  of  so  illustrious  an  adherent,  named 
him  at  once  general  and  chief  of  the  Neapolitan  marine  when 
it  should  be  established.  Religiously  tenacious  of  the  sacred 
ohligcdions  lie  had  contracted  tvith  his  country,  he  rejected  with 
disdain  the  offers  made  him  by  the  Court  of  Naples,  and  was 
one  of  those  who  oj^poscd  vHth  the  most  success  the  English  arms. 
This  was  principally  the  pretended  crime  which  led  him  to 
the  gallows.  Of  exemplary  courage  through  the  whole  of  his 
life,  he  died  like  a  hero,  after  having  tinged  with  shame  the 
countenances  of  his  military  judges  before  whom  he  pleaded 
his  own  cause  with  all  the  calm  a?nd  dignity  of  vii-tue."  ^ 

This  kind  of  language,  applied  to  as  gross  a  case  of  treachery 
as  can  be  found  in  history,  reminds  one  of  Canning's  celebrated 
sonnet  on  Eliza  Brownrigg : — 

*  Pettigrew's  Memoirs  of  Nelson,  i.  185.  '  Sketches,  &c.,  i.  211. 


NELSON   AND   CARACCIOLO.  223 

"  Dost  thou  ask  her  crime  ? 
She  whipped  two  female  'prentices  to  death, 
And  hid  them  in  the  coal-hole.     For  her  mind 
Shaped  strictest  plans  of  discipline.     Sage  schemes. 
Such  as  Lycurgus  taught     .     .      ; 
For  this  act 
Did  Brownrigg  swing.     Harsh  laws  I  but  time  shall  come 
When  France  shall  reign,  and  laws  be  all  repealed." 

Trowbridge,  who  was  the  very  soul  of  truth,  honour,  and 
fideUty,  refused  for  a  long  time  to  believe  that  one  with  whom 
he  had  served  could  be  guilty  of  such  baseness.  He  clung  to 
the  belief  that  Caracciolo  was  acting  under  compulsion ;  but 
even  Trowbridge  was  compelled  at  last  to  give  up  this  sup- 
position. On  the  1st  of  May  he  writes :  "  Caracciolo,  I  am 
now  satisfied,  is  a  Jacobin.  He  came  in  the  gunboats  to 
Castel-a-Mare  himself,  and  spirited  up  the  Jacobins."  ^  Captain 
Foote,  on  the  26th  of  May,  says, — "  Caracciolo  threatens  a 
second  attack,  with  a  considerable  addition  of  force  ; "  ^  and 
on  the  11th  June  he  says, — "  Caracciolo's  gunboats  have  for 
some  time  been  firing  at  the  town  of  Annunciata  and  the 
adjacent  houses."^  Of  the  guilt  of  Caracciolo  no  impartial 
person  can  entertain  a  douljt.  His  crime  was  one  wliich  the 
laws  of  all  civilised  nations  visit  with  death.  But,  however 
well  desei'ved  his  fate  might  be,  we  are  bound  to  see  that  the 
execution  of  the  sentence  which  was  passed  upon  him  was  no 
act  of  wild  or  irregular  justice,  but  was  sanctioned  by  the 
solemnities  of  law.  We  must  therefore  inquire  how  the 
traitor  was  brought  to  trial,  by  whom  he  was  judged,  and  by 
what  authority  he  was  executed. 

Upon  the  advance  of  the  Eoyalist  troops  towards  Naples, 
Caracciolo  took  refuge  in  one  of  the  castles,  Uovo  or  Nuovo, 
but  quitted  it  and  fled  to  the  mountains  before  the  suiTender. 
Here  he  foimd  himself  exposed  to  a  double  danger.  On  the 
one  hand,  his  life  was  in  immediate  peril  from  the  brigands ; 
and,  on  the  other,  he  could  expect  little  mercy  from  tlie  master 
whom  he  had  betrayed.  A  reward  was  offered  for  his  appre- 
hension. His  retreat,  a  cave  amongst  the  mountains  of 
Calabria,*  was  discovered,  and  on  the  29th  of  June  he  was 

'  Nelson  Despatches,  iii.  358.  =  ll)id.,  499.  »  Ibid.,  499. 

*  Par-sons'  Nelsouian  Reminiscences,  2. 


224  VINDICATIONS. 

brought  a  prisoner  on  board  the  Foudroyant.  He  Avas  placed 
under  charge  of  the  late  Lieutenant  Parsons,  who  was  at  that 
time  signal-mate  to  Nelson,  who  describes  him  as  "a  short 
thickset  man,  of  apparent  strength,  but  haggard  with  miserj' 
and  want."  ^  Captain  Hardy,  who  was  on  deck  at  the  time, 
immediately  ordered  his  arms  to  be  unbound,  and  food  to  ]ye 
offered  to  him.  As  soon  as  Nelson  was  informed  of  his 
apprehension,  he  issued  the  following  order,  addressed — 

"  To  Count  Thurn,  Commodore  and  Commander  of  his 
Sicilian  IMajesty's  frigate  La  Minerva  : 

"  Whereas  Francisco  Caracciolo,  a  Commodore  in  the  ser- 
vice of  his  Sicilian  Majesty,  has  been  taken,  and  stands 
accused  of  rebellion  against  his  lawful  sovereign,  and  for 
firing  at  his  colours  hoisted  on  board  his  frigate  the  Minerva, 
nnder  your  command  ; — 

"  You  are  therefore  hereby  required  and  directed  to  as- 
semble five  of  the  senior  officers  under  your  command,  your- 
self presiding,  and  proceed  to  inquire  whether  the  crime  with 
which  the  said  Francisco  Caracciolo  stands  charged  can  be 
proved  against  him ;  and  if  the  charge  is  proved,  you  are  to 
report  to  rae  what  punishment  he  ought  to  suffer. 

"  Given  on  board  the  Foudroyant,  Naples  Bay,  the  29th 
June  1799.  Nelson." 

The  court  met  forthwith  on  board  the  Foudroyant,  There 
is  nothing  to  show  that  the  trial  was  not  conducted  with 
perfect  faii-ness.  There  are  two  accounts  of  the  defence 
attempted  by  the  prisoner,  which  are  inconsistent  with  each 
other,  but  both  of  which  admit  his  guilt.  According  to 
Clarke  and  M'Arthur,  he  insisted  that  "  he  had  been  com- 
pelled to  perform  the  duty  of  a  common  soldier  for  a  con- 
siderable time,  when  he  was  offered  the  command  of  the 
Eepublican  Neapolitan  navy,  which  necessity  alone  had  at 
length  compelled  him  to  accept."  ^ 

*  Parsons'  Nelsonian  Eeminiscences,   2. 

*  Nelson  Despatches,  iii.  50.3. 


^  NELSON   AND   CARACCIOLO.  225 

It  is  also  stated  by  the  same  authority,  that  it  was  clearly 
proved  that  he  had  repeated  opportunities  of  escaping,  of 
none  of  which  had  he  attempted  to  avail  himself. 

Lieutenant  I'arsons  states  that  his  defence  consisted  of  a 
recriminatory  attack  upon  the  king,  and  that  he  excused 
himself  on  the  ground  that,  had  he  not  succumbed  to  the 
ruling  powers,  his  patrimonial  possessions  would  have  been 
forfeited,  and  his  children  reduced  to  beggar}'.^  It  was  im- 
possible for  the  court  to  come  to  any  conclusion  but  that  the 
crime  was  proved.  The  sentence  followed,  of  course.  Carac- 
ciolo  was  condemned  to  die  the  death  of  a  traitor.  The  court 
reported  their  decision  to  Nelson ;  and  by  him,  as  superior  in 
command,  the  sentence  w^as  confirmed,  and  orders  given  that 
it  should  be  carried  into  immediate  execution. 

Such  are  the  simple  and  indisputable  facts  of  the  case; 
and  upon  these  facts  it  is  difiicidt  to  see  how  Nelson  could 
have  acted  otherwise  than  he  did,  without  a  gross  dereliction 
of  duty. 

If  the  treachery  and  desertion  of  an  officer,  followed  by 
active  hostility  against  the  sovereign  whose  commission  he 
liolds,  is  not  an  offence  deserving  of  the  most  severe  punish- 
ment that  the  laws  of  war  allow,  it  appears  impossible  to  say 
what  crime  can  be  so. 

That  Caracciolo  had  been  guilty  of  this  offence  does  not 
admit  of  a  doubt.  It  has  been  urged  with  some  inconsis- 
tency, that  he  ought  not  to  have  been  tried  by  Sicilian 
officers,  and  that  the  court  should  not  have  been  held  on 
board  an  English  ship.  To  the  first  objection  it  may  be 
answered,  that  a  court  of  officers  of  his  own  service  is  the  only 
tribunal  provided  by  law  for  the  trial  of  such  a  charge  ;  and  it 
may  be  asked,  What  would  have  been  said  had  Caracciolo  been 
tried  and  condemned  by  a  court  composed  of  English  officers  ? 
As  to  the  second  objection,  the  circumstance  that  the  trial 
took  place  on  board  an  English  ship,  if  material  at  all,  couUl 
only  be  favourable  to  the  prisoner.  That  the  condemnation 
to  an  ignominious  death  of  a  man  whom  he  had  known  and 
respected  in  other  days,  was  an  act  of  stern  duty,  which 
'  I'arsoiis'  Nelsonian  lleminisceuccs,  3. 

r 


22G  VINDICATIONS. 

Nelson  only  porfoimed  aftin-  a  painful  struggle,  is  abundantly 
proved.     Unt  on  this  as  on  all  other  occasions,  the  principle 
of  duty  which  is  linked  eternally  with  the  life  and  death 
of  Nelson  prevailed.     To  the  officer  who  was  the  bearer  of 
the  wretched  prisoner's  supplications,  if  not  for  life,  at  any 
rate  that  he  might  di'e  a  death  fitted  not  to  his  crimes,  but  to 
his  rank  and  profession,  Nelson,  after  much  agitation,  replied : 
"  Caracciolo  has  been  fairly  tried  by  the  officers  of  his  own 
country ;  I   cannot  interfere  :    go,  sir,   and   attend   to   your 
duty."  ^     Caracciolo  was  hanged  at  the  yard-arm  of  the  Nea- 
politan ship,  the   Minerva — the  ship  he  had  himself  com- 
manded, the  ship  he  had  treacherously  fired  upon  when  his 
sovereign's  colours  were  flying  at  her  mast-head.     To  l)estow 
upon  this  wretched  traitor  the  name  of  a  patriot,  a  hero,  an 
"honoured  shade,"  and  illustrious  martyr  of  liberty,"^  is  a 
gross  and  ridiculous  perversion  of  language.     The  best  that 
can  be  said  of  him  is,  that  he  was  no  worse  than  the  rest  of 
his  countrymen.     He  was  but  one  of  a  nation  in  wliich  the 
court  was  profligate  and  corrupt,  the  nobility  licentious  and 
treacherous,  and  the  people  debased,  slavish,  and  bloodthirsty. 
Such  are  the  simple  and  plain  facts  ;  such  are  the  grounds 
upon  wdiich  we  feel  ourselves  entitled  to  denounce  the  charges 
brought  against  Nelson  in  respect  to  the  transactions  which 
took  place  in  the  Bay  of  Naples  in  the  year  1799,  as  infamous 
and  groimdless  calumnies.     "We  have  confined  ourselves  to 
the  plainest  and  simplest  statement  of  facts.     Those  of  our 
readers  who  may  wish  to  pursue  the  subject  further,  will  find 
a  mass  of  evidence  of  the  most  conclusive  kind  in  the  Appendix 
to  the  third  volume  of  Sir  Harris  Nicolas's  '  Nelson  Despatches.' 
This  valuable  publication  has  now  been  before  the  public  for 
fifteen  years,  and  it  is  the  duty  of  every  one  who  desires  to 
write  or  speak  truly  of  the  character  and  acts  of  Nelson,  to 
make  himself  acquainted  with  its  contents. 

Some  of  our  readers  will  no  doubt  be  surprised  to  find  no 
allusion  to  Lady  Hamilton  in  the  narrative  we  have  given  of 
these  transactions.  The  simple  fact  is,  that  notwithstanding  all 
the  obloquy  which  has  been  heaped  upon  her  name,  she  had  no 

1  Nelson  Despatches,  iii.  503.  •=  Sketches,  &c.,  i.  222. 


NELSON    AND    CARACCIOLO.  227 

share  whatever  in  the  trial  or  execution  of  Caracciolo,  and  the 
only  part  she  took  in  the  affair  of  the  Castles  of  Uovo  and 
Nuovo  consisted  in  the  assistance  she  gave  to  Sir  "William 
Hamilton  by  interpreting  between  Euffo  and  Nelson,  whose 
knowledge  of  the  Italian  language  was  very  imperfect.  Our 
present  limits  are  far  too  short  to  permit  us  to  enter  upon  the 
history  of  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  women  that  the 
world  has  produced.     We  reserve  this  for  a  future  paper. 

It  was  long  the  fashion  to  palliate  what  was  supposed  to  be 
the  guilt  of  Nelson,  by  urging  that  he  acted  under  the  fatal 
fascination  of  Lady  Hamilton,  and  the  English  language  was 
ransacked  for  the  foulest  terms  of  abuse,  which  were  showered 
in  abundance  on  her  head.  Nelson  needs  no  such  excuse. 
He  acted  as  his  duty  to  his  country,  to  her  allies,  and  to  him- 
self, required  liim  to  do. 


228 


11. 


LADY    HAMILTON.' 

On  the  2Gtli  of  April  1764,  at  Preston  in  Lancashire,  a  girl 
was  born  of  poor  parents,  of  the  name  of  Lyons.  If  a  fairy 
liad  sat  by  the  cradle  of  that  child  and  promised  her  matchless 
beauty  and  mental  endowments  of  the  highest  order — had  told 
her  that  all  that  wealth  could  purchase  should  be  lavished 
upon  her ;  that  princes  and  nobles,  poets  and  painters,  should 
hang  upon  the  tones  of  her  voice  and  the  smiles  that  played 
round  her  lips ;  that  she  should  go  forth  to  the  fairest  of  lands, 
whose  queen  should  select  her  for  her  most  intimate  and 
cherished  friend ;  that  she  should  reign  absolute  in  the  heart 
of  one  whose  name  filled  all  tongues,  and  that  upon  her  the 
destinies  of  the  world  should  depend ; — and  if  another  voice 
had  then  whispered,  "  All  this  shall  be  so  unto  thee,  but  thy 
fame  shall  be  blasted ;  thy  name  shall  be  spoken  with  bated 
breath  as  a  word  of  shame  ;  foul  crimes  shall  be  falsely  charged 
agaiust  thee,  and,  for  thy  sake,  against  him  who  shall  love  thee 
as  only  hearts  as  great  and  generous  as  his  can  love ;  obloquy 
shall  be  heaped  upon  thy  head,  and  thou  shalt  die  an  outcast 
in  a  foreign  land,  lonely,  forlorn,  and  deserted ;" — such  a  pro- 
phecy would  not  have  equalled  in  strangeness  the  real  events 
of  the  life  of  that  child. 

If  we  desired  to  write  a  thesis  upon  the  trite  obseiTation, 
how  much  stranger  truth  is  than  fiction,  or  a  moral  essay  on 
the  mutability  of  Fortune,  we  could  not  select  a  more  appro- 
priate theme  than  the  name  of  Emma  Lyons.  "We  have,  how- 
ever, neither  the  wish  nor  the  intention  to  moralise.  The  task 
we  propose  to  ourselves  is  the  humbler  but  more  difficult  one  of 

*  Blackwood's  Magazine,  April  1860. 


LADY    HAMILTON.  229 

examiDing  the  evidence  upon  which  certain  well-known  stories, 
once  current  merely  as  matter  of  popular  scandal,  have  gradu- 
ally been  woven  into  the  web  of  histor}^ ;  of  separating  what 
we  may  fairly  accept  as  facts  from  what  we  are  entitled  to 
reject  as  fiction ;  of  gathering  up  the  scattered  fragments  of 
truth,  and  freeing  them  as  far  as  we  are  able  from  the  false- 
hoods in  which  they  have  been  obscured. 

The  father  of  Emma  Lyons  died  whilst  she  was  an  infant, 
and  upon  his  death  her  mother  removed  from  Preston  to  the 
village  of  Hawarden  in  Flintshire.  Here,  at  a  very  early  age, 
she  was  engaged  as  a  nurserymaid  in  the  family  of  a  Mr 
Thomas  who  resided  in  that  village,  and  who  was  brother-in- 
law  to  the  well-known  Alderman  Boydell.  Her  next  engage- 
ment was  in  a  similar  capacity  in  the  family  of  Dr  Budd,  one 
of  the  physicians  to  St  Bartholomew's  Hospital,  who  resided 
in  Chatham  Place,  Blackfriars.  This  fact  is  mentioned  by  Dr 
Pettigrew  in  his  '  Memoirs  of  Lord  Nelson ; '  and  as  he  was  per- 
sonally acquainted  with  Dr  Budd,  the  correctness  of  his  infor- 
mation may,  no  doubt,  be  relied  upon.^  She  passed  fi'om  his 
service  into  that  of  a  tradesman  in  St  James's  Market ;  and 
afterwards  seems  to  have  resided  some  time  as  a  kind  of 
humble  companion  with  a  lady  of  fashion,  whose  attention 
had  been  accidentally  attracted  by  her  remarkable  beauty.  It 
was  during  her  residence  with  this  lady  that  she  appears  to 
have  first  had  the  opportunity  of  acquiring  the  rudiments  of 
those  accomplishments  for  which  she  afterwards  became  so 
remarkable. 

Up  to  this  period  Emma  Lyons  maintained  a  spotless  repu- 
tation. Accident  and  her  own  kindness  of  heart  now,  however, 
occasioned  her  introduction  to  Captain,  afterwards  Admiral 
Payne,  a  distinguished  officer.^  A  relation  or  acquaintance,  a 
native  of  Wales,  had  been  impressed  in  the  Thames,  and  to 

^  Pcttigrew's  Memoirs  of  Nelson,  ii.  594. 

^  Admiral  Piiyno  represented  Huntingdon  in  Parliament.  He  was  intimate 
with  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  ai)]iointed  comptroller  of  liis  liousehold.  He 
commanded  the  squadron  which,  in  1795,  hrought  the  Princess  Caroline  of 
P)runswick  to  Englantl.  After  distinguished  services  under  Collingwood,  I^rd 
Howe,  and  Lord  Bridport,  he  was  appointed  Treasurer  of  Greenwich  Hospital, 
where  he  died  on  the  17th  November  1802. 


2;;0  VINDICATIONS. 

Captain  I'ayne  she  applied  for  lii.s  release.  The  Captain  be- 
came enamoured,  pressed  his  suit,  and  prevailed.  She  became 
his  mistress,  and  retreat  in  such  a  path  being  next  to  impos- 
sible, she  subsequently  formed  a  similar  connection  with  Sir 
Harry  Featherstonehaugh  of  Up  Park  in  Sussex.^  Few  who 
consider  what  were  the  temptations  to  which  she  must  have 
been  exposed,  the  lax  manners  of  the  day,  her  youth,  her 
wonderful  beauty,  and  the  delight  which  a  girl  of  her  mental 
capacity  must  have  felt  in  the  society  of  men  of  intellect 
and  education,  will  be  disposed  to  pass  a  severe  judgment 
upon  her. 

It  has  been  confidently  asserted  that  at  this  time  she  be- 
came-connected  with  the  infamous  empiric  Dr  Graham ;  that 
she  was  the  woman  who,  under  the  name  of  "  Hebe  Vestina," 
bore  a  part  in  his  exhibition ;  ^  and  that  it  was  to  this  cir- 
cumstance that  she  owed  her  introduction  to  liomney,  and  her 
employment  as  a  model  by  Reynolds,  Hopner,  and  other  cele- 
brated artists. 

The  first  trace  we  can  find  of  this  stoiy  is  just  thirty-five 
years  after  the  events  are  supposed  to  have  occurred.  In  1815, 
immediately  after  the  death  of  Lady  Hamilton,  an  infamous 
book  professing  to  contain  her  memoirs  appeared.  After  nar- 
rating the  story,  the  anonjTuous  biographer  concludes  as  fol- 
lows :  "  While  the  fact  of  this  exhibition  itself  stands  uncon- 
tradicted, the  friends  of  the  female  who  figured  in  it  have 
persevered  in  denying  her  connection  with  the  same.  But 
their  zeal  is  more  gratifying  to  the  feelings  than  satisfac- 
tory to  the  judgment.  Such  a  circvmstance  could  not  have  been 
related  vnthout  some  foundation,  and  the  writer  of  this  had  the 
whole  history  from  a  person  of  the  highest  literary  character 
twenty-five  years  ago."^ 

A  story  which  rests  on  the  assertion,  after  the  death  of  the 
accused  person,  by  the  anonymous  author  of  an  infamous  and 
scandalous  publication,  on  the  pretended  authority  of  another 

•  Sir  Harry  Featherstonehaugh  died  on  the  24th  October  1846,  at  the  {i^eat 
age  of  ninety-two  years.  He  married  late  in  life,  but  left  no  issue.  The  title 
is  now  extinct.  — Annual  Register,  LxxxviiL  298  ;  Lxvii.  206. 

»  Kay's  Original  Portraits,  i.  36.  ^  Memoirs  of  Lady  Hamilton,  43. 


LADY    HAMILTON.  231 

anonymous  "  literary  character,"  five-and-twenty  years  before, 
and  five-and-tliirty  after  the  supposed  event,  would  hardly 
deserve  notice,  had  it  not  obtained  very  general  belief  and  wide 
circulation.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  find,  when  that  is  the 
case,  that  the  very  illogical  course  is  adopted  of  requiring  the 
negative  to  be  proved,  and,  instead  of  asking  on  what  founda- 
tion the  story  rests,  it  is  insisted  that  it  should  be  proved  to 
be  false. 

It  is  seldom,  of  course,  that  this  can  be  done,  but  in  the 
present  case  we  find  about  as  good  negative  proof  as  can  well 
be  conceived. 

Graham's  exhibition  began  in  1780,  and  finally  closed  in 
1784.^  In  1783  this  infamous  quack  made  his  appearance, 
and  attempted  to  introduce  his  exhibition  in  Edinburgh,  where 
he  was  most  properly  committed  to  the  Tolbooth.-  The  same 
work  which  contains  the  charge  contains  also  the  statement 
that  Emma  Lyons  was  sixteen  at  the  time  she  arrived  in  Lon- 
don." Pettigrew's  statement  that  she  was  born  in  1764  is  con- 
firmed by  the  official  entry  of  her  death  in  the  records  at  Calais, 
in  which  she  is  stated  to  have  been  fifty-one  years  of  age  in 
1815.  It  follows  that  1780  was  the  date  of  her  employment 
as  a  nursemaid  in  the  family  of  Dr  Budd.  How  long  she  re- 
mained in  that  employment  is  not  known,  but  she  subsequently 
entered  the  service  of  a  tradesman  at  the  west  end  of  the  town ; 
then,  as  we  have  seen,  became  a  companion  to  a  lady ;  after 
which  she  lived  successively  with  Captain  Payne  and  Sir 
Harry  Featherstonehaugh,  during  her  residence  with  the  latter 
of  whom  she  attained  great  celebrity  for  her  skill  as  a  horse- 
woman and  her  courage  in  the  hunting-field.  This  is  an  art 
not  very  rapidly  acquired,  and  the  fact  implies  a  residence  of 
one  winter,  at  the  very  least,  at  Up  Park.  In  the  beginning 
of  1782*  she  was  brought  by  the  Hon.  C.  F.  Greville,  with  whom 
she  was  then  residing,  and  introduced  by  him  to  Eonincy,  who 
then  painted  the  very  beautiful  portrait  (perhaps  the  most 

1  See  Anchenholtz,   Tableau  il'Angletcrre,   i.   104  ;    ami   Dr  Gialiam's  own 
aboiniiiable  pamphlets. 

-  Gentleman's  Maj,Mzinc,  liii.  711.  •'  Memoirs  of  Lady  Hamilton,  '21. 

••  Life  of  Komuey,  by  J.  Ivomney,  ISO. 


2;{2  VINDICATIONS. 

lovely  el'  all  liis  works),  entitled  "Nature,"  wliicli  is  imw  in 
tlio  possession  of  Mr  Fawkes  of  Farnely.  Tliis  leaves  a  period 
of  barely  two  years  between  her  first  coming  to  London,  wlien 
she  entered  the  service  of  Dr  Budd,  and  her  being  under  the 
protection  of  Mr  Greville,' — a  period  short  even  for  the  events 
we  have  narrated,  and  which  appears  to  exclude  the  possibility 
of  tliere  being  any  foundation  for  the  popular  story  of  her 
having  been  reduced  to  a  state  of  abject  misery,  to  escape 
from  which  she  is  supposed  to  have  acceded  to  Dr  Graham's 
proposals.  "We  have  here,  too,  the  true  account  of  her  intro- 
duction to  Ptomney  ;  and  coupling  this  positive  evidence  of 
the  falsehood  of  the  part  of  the  story  with  the  extreme  im- 
probability of  the  rest,  arising  from  the  shoiiness  of  the 
time,  and  the  total  absence  of  any  evidence  whatever  in  sup- 
port of  it,  we  consider  ourselves  entitled  to  reject  the  whole 
as  a  fabrication. 

It  is  with  her  introduction  to  Romney  that  the  public  in- 
terest of  Lady  Hamilton's  life  commences.  It  is  impossible  to 
gaze  on  the  face  so  familiar  to  every  one,  and  which  owes  its 
immortality  to  his  pencil,  without  feelings  of  deep  emotion. 
The  charm  consists  not  in  beauty  of  feature,  marvellous  though 
that  beauty  is.  There  beams  in  those  eyes,  and  plays  around 
those  lips,  the  power  of  fascination  which,  a  few  years  later, 
brought  princes,  statesmen,  and  heroes  to  worship  at  her  feet. 

jNlarvellous  and  inscrutable  are  the  ways  by  which  "  Provi- 
dence doth  shape  our  ends  "  !  Had  that  face  been  less  beauti- 
ful, had  the  heart  of  its  possessor  been  less  brave  and  faithful, 
had  she  lacked  courage  or  promptitude — or,  strange  as  it  may 
sound,  had  she  been  less  frail,  had  she  possessed  fewer  virtues 
or  fewer  faults — the  whole  course  of  Idstory  might  have  been 
changed,  and  the  Nile,  and  even  Trafalgar,  have  had  no  place 
in  the  annals  of  England. 

It  has  been  repeatedly  asserted  that  Emma  Harte  (for  such 
was  the  name  by  which  at  this  time  she  was  known)  was  the 
servant,  the  model,  and  the  mistress  of  Pomney.  This  story 
will  be  found,  on  investigation,  just  as  groundless  as  the  grosser 
one  of  her  connection  with  the  quack  Graham.  At  the  time 
'  Mr  Grevillc  died  at  Taddington  in  the  mouth  of  May  1809. 


LADY    HAMILTON.  233 

of  her  introrluction  to  Eomney,  Emma  Haite  was  living  with 
the  Honourable  C.  Greville,  a  young  man  of  high  family  and 
position  ;  she  resided  with  him  for  six  or  seven  3^ears — his  wife 
in  everything  except  in  legal  title  to  the  name  ;  and  his  letters 
show  that,  long  after  the  termination  of  that  connection,  he 
retained  feelings  of  warm  and  respectful  affection  for  her. 
Komney  was,  at  this  time,  long  past  middle  life.  That  he,  like 
his  friend  Hayley,  the  biographer  of  Cowper,  conceived  a  ro- 
mantic attachment  to  the  beautiful  subject  of  his  pencil,  is 
abundantly  shown  by  his  letters.  The  morbid  tendencies  of 
Eomney's  mind,  which  a  few  years  later  developed  themselves 
into  evident  insanity,  are  well  known.  "  The  divine  lady,"  as 
he  calls  her,  was  the  object  of  sentimental  and  distant  adora- 
tion, and  never  did  devout  worshipper  pay  more  precious 
homage  at  the  shrine  of  bis  idol.  He  painted  as  many  as 
twenty-three  pictures  of  her.  There  is  but  one  of  these  pic- 
tures that  even  borders  upon  passing  the  bounds  of  modesty, 
and  of  that  one,  the  head  only  was  painted  from  Lady  Plamil- 
ton.  It  is  the  picture  of  a  Bacchante  leading  a  goat,  and  is 
now  in  the  collection  at  Petworth.  The  engraving  is  lying  by 
us  as  we  write,  and  gazes  upon  us  with  looks  of  inexpressible 
loveliness.  I\Iany  would  say  that  it  savoured  of  pruder}-^  when 
we  describe  this  picture  as  voluptuous.  We  notice  it  for  the 
sake  of  recording  the  fact,  that  the  face  alone  was  painted  from 
Lady  Hamilton.  She  was  his  model  in  the  sense  that  it  was 
her  surpassing  beauty  that  inspired  his  genius,  incorporating 
itself  with  his  very  being,  so  that  he  could  paint  nothing  but 
her;  and,  present  or  absent,  her  features  arc  to  be  traced  through 
all  his  works.^ 

^  The  following  ia  a  list  of  tlie  iiicdurcs  painted  hy  rioniney  from  Lad}'  Ham- 
ilton, and  {^iven  in  J.  Komiiey's  Life  of  the  painter  :  1.  "  Nature,"  1782 — now 
in  the  possession  of  Mr  Fawkes  ;  engraved  by  Meyer,  ll^  in.  by  Oj,  and  b<dter 
by  J.  K.  Smith,  94  in.  by  8,  both  mezzo  ;  2.  Ciree,  painted  about  the  same 
time — unfinished;  3.  Iphigenia  ;  4.  St  Cecilia  (Keating,  stipple)  ;  5.  IJaeehante, 
sent  to  Sir  Wm.  Hamilton  at  Naples,  and  lost  at  sea  ;  6.  Alope  (Earlom,  stip- 
ple); 7.  Tlie  Spinstress  (Cheesman,  stipple)  ;  8.  Cassandra  — Hoydell's  Shake- 
speare Gallery  (Legatt,  line);  9.  Three-quarters,  straw-hat,  "Knima" — Mr 
Crawford  (Jones,  stipple)  ;  10.  Hacehante — Sir  J.  Leicester,  now  at  Petworth 
(Knight,  stipple) — iigurc  painted  in  afterwards ;  1 L  Half-length,  sent  to  Naples  ; 
12.  Do.,  given  to  her  mother;  13  and  14.  Calypso  and  Magdalcu — I'rinec  of 


2:51  VINDICATKJN.S. 

I'm  lore  we  Iciive  tliis  part  of  the  subject,  it  may  be  as  well 
to  notice  (thou<,'h  rather  out  of  place  in  point  of  time)  another 
circumstance  whicli  has  given  rise  to  many  erroneous  impres- 
sions. During  lier  residence  in  Italy,  a  work  was  published 
entitled  '  Lady  Hamilton's  Attitudes.'  This  gave  occasion  to  a 
malicious  insinuation  in  one  of  Gilray's  caricatures.  The  cari- 
cature was  far  more  popular  than  the  original  work.  The 
slander  survived  the  circumstances  that  gave  rise  to  it.  The 
book  has  become  scarce,  and  is  of  very  little  intrinsic  value  ; 
we  have,  however,  seen  a  copy,  and  we  can  assure  our  readers 
that  it  does  not  contain  a  single  figure  which  might  not  be  re- 
presented with  prefect  propriety  by  the  most  decorous  matron 
in  Edinburgh.  The  iigures  are  absolutely  encumbered  with 
drapery.  Lady  Hamilton's  remarkable  skill  in  arranging  which, 
gave  occasion  to  the  work,  wliich  was  published  by  the  desire 
of  Sir  William  Hamilton. 

From  1782  till  1789,  Emma  Harte  continued  to  reside  under 
the  protection  of  Mr  Greville.  In  that  year  he  was  compelled 
to  break  up  his  establishment,  and  to  make  arrangements  with 
his  creditors.  Sir  William  Hamilton  prevailed  upon  Emma 
Harte  to  accompany  him  to  Naples,  where  he  had  long  resided 
as  British  ambassador.  There  she  remained  for  two  years,  and 
in  1791  returned  to  London  with  Sir  William  Hamilton.  The 
accomplishments  whicli  she  had  sedulously  cultivated  during 
her  residence  with  jNIr  Greville  had  been  brought  to  perfection 
during  her  stay  in  Italy.  In  August  1791  Eomney  writes  : 
"  She  performed  in  my  house  last  week,  singing  and  acting 
before  some  of  the  nobility  with  the  most  astonishing  powers  ; 

Wales — (I  believe  these  pictures  to  be  those  which  are  now  at  Kagley;  they 
are  extremely  fiue,  and,  as  far  as  I  know,  have  never  been  engraved)  ;  15,  16, 
17.  Joan  of  Arc,  Pythian  Priestess,  and  Cassandra — unfinished  •,\IS.  Half  (full) 
length,  reading — light  reflected  on  ^the  face — Hayley  (Jones,  stipple)  ;  19. 
Three-quarters,  1792  ;  20,  21,  22.  Three-quarters,  side  face.  Two  other  un- 
finished heads. 

In  addition  to  this  list,  there  is  a  very  beautiful  figure  called  "  The  Seam- 
stress," which,  we  believe,  was  painted  from  Lady  Hamilton,  engraved  by 
Knight.  At  Ragley  there  is  also  a  portrait  nearly  full-length  by  Hamilton,  en- 
graved in  line  by  Morghen.  She  was  also  the  original  of  Reynolds's  celebrated 
"  Bacchante  " — J.  R.  Smith,  mezzo.  There  is  a  magnificent  full-length,  by  Law- 
rence, in  the  National  Gallery  of  Scotland  ;  and  a  very  lovely  chalk  head  by  the 
same  artist,  signed  "  Emma,"   in  the  British  Museum— engraved  by  Knight. 


LADY    HAMILTON.  235 

she  is  the  talk  of  the  whole  town,  and  really  surpasses 
everything,  both  in  singing  and  acting,  that  ever  appeared. 
Galliui  offered  her  two  thousand  pounds  a-year  and  two  benefits 
if  she  would  engage  with  him ;  on  which  Sir  William  said, 
pleasantly,  that  he  had  engaged  her  for  life."  ^ 

On  the  Gth  of  September  1791,  within  a  fortnight  of  the 
party  at  Eomuey's  house,  Emma  Harte  became  Lady  Hamilton, 
and  thus  acquired  a  legal  title  to  the  name  by  which  she  will 
be  known  as  long  as  the  history  of  England  lasts. - 

This  terminates  what  may  be  called  the  first  part  of  her 
career.  It  is  that  over  which  most  doubt  and  obscurity  pre- 
vails. We  consider,  however,  that  we  are  entitled,  for  the 
reason  we  have  given,  to  reject  altogether,  as  fabrications,  the 
story  of  her  being  reduced  "to  the  extremity  of  want  and 
misery ; "  of  her  having  been  "  a  mere  outcast  in  the  metro- 
polis ;"  ^  of  her  connection  with  Graham  ;  and  of  her  supposed 
improper  intimacy  with  Romney.  These  slanders  originate 
in  the  abominable  pages  of  an  infamous  and  anonymous  pub- 
lication ;  they'  are  not  supported  by  one  tittle  of  evidence ; 
the  dates  show  that  it  was  next  to  impossible  that  the  sup- 
posed facts  could  have  occurred  ;  and  the  charges  are  met 
by  negative  evidence,  as  far  as  the  circumstances  admit  of 
such  proof. 

^  Hayley's  Life  of  Romney,  165. 

^  The  marriage  is  announced  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  for  September 
1791  as  follows:  "Sir  W.  Hamilton,  K.C. B.,  Envoy  Extraordinary  and 
Minister  Plenipotentiaiy  to  the  Court  of  Naples,  to  Miss  Harte,  a  lady  much 
celebrated  for  her  elegant  accomplishments  and  great  musical  abilities."  It  is 
stated  in  Pettigrew's  Memoirs  of  Nelson,  that  the  marriage  was  solemnised  at 
St  George's,  Hanover  Square.  This  is  a  mistake.  We  have  searched  the 
register  of  that  parish  without  finding  any  trace  of  it.  The  St  James's  Chronicle 
mentions  the  marriage  as  having  taken  place  at  Marybone  Church.  On  ex- 
amining the  register  of  that  parish,  wc  found  the  entry  of  the  marriage.  It  is 
somewhat  singular  that  though  the  name  of  Harte  is  used  in  the  Annual 
Register,  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  and  the  newspai>crs  of  the  day,  the  name 
in  the  register,  and  by  which  Lady  Hamilton  signed  that  document,  is  "Amy 
Lyons,"  the  surname  having  been  originally  written  "  Lions,"  and  the  "i" 
subseipicntly  alteretl  into  a  "y."  The  Christian  name  "  Amy  "  is  distinctly 
written.  We  are  not  aware  of  any  other  instance  in  whidi  she  used  any 
Christian  name  but  that  of  Emma.  The  witnesses  to  the  marriage  were  the 
^laniupss  of  Abercorn  and  the  IJcv.  I^.  Dutcns. 

•^  Memoirs  of  Lady  Hamilton,  39. 


230  \  INKICA'IIONS, 

hiiiiKMliiitoly  after  tlic  inarriago,  Sir  William  and  Lady 
iliuiiiltcm  started  fur  Naples.  A  letter  from  the  unliaiipy 
Afarie  Antoinette  (said  to  have  been  the  last  she  addressed  to 
her  sister)  secured  her  an  introduction  to  the  queen,  who  soon 
admitted  her  to  the  closest  intimacy  and  most  complete  confi- 
dence. We  find  from  Lord  St  Vincent's  letters  that  she  em- 
ployed the  influence  she  thus  acquired  to  promote  the  interests 
of  Great  Britain.  He  distin^^niishes  her  by  the  title  of  the 
"  Patroness  of  the  Navy."  The  letters  of  Troubridge  and  Ball, 
and  others  of  that  gallant  band  who  shared  the  glory  of  Nelson, 
show  that  they  entertained  a  similar  feeling.  It  was  not  long 
before  she  was  enabled  to  perform  an  important  service.  The 
King  of  Naples  had  received  from  the  King  of  Spain  a  private 
letter,  communicating  his  determination  to  desert  the  cause  of 
the  Allies,  and  to  join  France  against  England.  Of  this  letter 
the  queen  obtained  possession,  and  communicated  its  contents 
to  Lady  Hamilton.  Sir  William  was  dangerously  ill,  and 
unable  to  attend  to  his  duties ;  but  Lady  Hamilton  imme- 
diately despatched  a  copy  of  the  letter  to  Lord  Gren\alle, 
taking  the  necessary  means  for  insuring  its  safety — a  precau- 
tion which  was  attended  with  the  expense  of  about  £400, 
which  she  paid  out  of  her  private  purse.^  The  INIinistry  im- 
mediately acted  upon  this  information,  and  sent  orders  to  Sir 
John  Jervis  to  take  hostile  steps,  if  opportunity  should  offer, 
against  Spain.^ 

Many  services  were  performed  for  the  English  navy  by  Lady 
Hamilton  during  this  difficult  period,  when  French  influence 
was  so  powerful  at  Naples  as  to  render  it  dangerous  for  the 
British  Minister  even  to  appear  at  Court. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  June  1798,  however,  that  Lady 
Hamilton  performed  the  act  which  entitles  her  to  the  lasting 
gratitude  of  all  who  feel  pride  in  the  glory  of  the  British  navy. 

Naples  was  at  peace  with  France.  One  of  the  stipulations 
of  the  treaty  was,  that  no  more  than  two  English  ships  of  war 
should  enter  into  any  of  the  Neapolitan  or  Sicilian  ports. 
Nelson  was  in  pursuit  of  the  French  fleet,  but  in  urgent  want 
of  provisions  and  water.  He  despatched  Troubridge  to  Sir 
1  Tettigrcw's  Life  of  Nelson,  ii.  610.  -  Ibid.,  518. 


LADY   HAMILTON.  237 

William  Hamilton,  urging  upon  him  to  procure  permission  for 
the  fleet  to  enter  Naples  or  one  of  the  Sicilian  ports,  as  other- 
wise he  should  be  compelled  to  run  to  Gibraltar  for  supplies, 
and  to  give  over  all  further  pursuit  of  the  French  fleet.  Trou- 
bridge  arrived  at  Naples  about  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
instantly  called  up  Sir  William  Hamilton.  They  went  to  the 
Neapolitan  minister,  Acton.  A  council  was  summoned,  at 
which  the  feeble  and  vacillating  king  presided.  Their  deliber- 
ations lasted  for  an  hour  and  a  half,  and  ended  in  disappoint- 
ment. The  king  dared  not  break  with  France.  The  application 
was  refused.  But  in  the  mean  time  a  more  powerful  agent 
than  Sir  William  Hamilton  had  been  at  work,  and  a  more 
vigorous  and  bolder  mind  than  that  of  the  king  had  come  to 
an  opposite  determination.  The  little  barefooted  girl  of  the 
Welsh  village  and  the  daughter  of  jVIaria  Theresa -of  Austria 
had  met.  The  time  which  Sir  William  Hamilton,  Troubridue. 
and  Acton  had  vainly  spent  in  attempting  to  move  the  king, 
had  been  passed  by  Lady  Hamilton  with  the  queen,  who, 
having  given  birth  to  a  son,  was  by  the  laws  of  Naples  entitled 
to  a  voice  in  the  State  Council.^  By  the  most  vehement  en- 
treaties and  arguments,  she  obtained  her  signature  to  an  order 
addressed  "  to  all  governors  of  the  Two  Sicilies,  to  receive  with 
hospitality  the  British  fleet,  to  water,  victual,  and  aid  them." 
As  Lady  Hamilton  placed  this  order  in  the  hands  of  Trou- 
bridge,  he  exclaimed  that  it  would  "  cheer  Nelson  to  ecstasy  ! " 
She  begged  "  that  the  queen  might  be  as  little  committed  in 
the  use  of  it  as  the  glory  and  service  of  the  country  would 
admit  of."     Nelson,  on  receiving  it,  wrote : — 

"  My  Dear  Lady  Hamilton, — I  have  kissed  the  queen's 
letter.  Pray,  say  I  hope  for  the  honour  of  kissing  her  hand 
when  no  fears  will  intervene.  Assure  her  majesty  that  no 
])erson  has  her  felicity  more  at  heart  than  myself,  and  that 
the  sufferings  of  her  family  will  be  a  tower  of  strength  in  tlie 
day  of  battle.  Fear  not  the  event.  God  is  with  us.  God 
bless  you  and  Sir  William.  Pray,  say  I  cannot  stay  to  answer 
his  letter. — Ever  yours  faithfully,  Hoiiatio  Nf.lson." 

'  I'cttigrcw,  G93. 


238  VINDICATIONS. 

Aniicil  with  this  uutliority,  Nelson  entered  the  port  of 
Syracuse,  victuulled  and  watered  liis  fU-et,  and  Ibuglit  and 
won  the  battle  of  the  Nile. 

Few  months  elapsed  before  Lady  Hamilton  was  again 
engaged  in  an  enterprise  requiring  courage  and  discretion  of 
the  highest  order. 

The  royal  family  of  Naples  were  in  extreme  peril  Tlie 
army  had  been  defeated,  though,  as  Nelson  observed,  "  the 
Neapolitan  officers  did  not  lose  much  honour,  for,  God  knows, 
thoy  had  not  much  to  lose  ;  but  they  lost  all  they  had."  ^  The 
Court  was  filled  with  traitors,  the  city  with  ruffians  and  assas- 
sins. "  The  mind  of  man  could  not  fancy  things  worse  than 
they  were."  ^  It  was  resolved  by  Nelson,  Sir  William  and 
Lady  Hamilton,  and  the  queen,  that  the  only  place  of  safety 
for  the  royal  family  was  to  be  found  in  Nelson's  ship,  and 
that  a  retreat  to  Palermo  was  necessary.  Had  this  design 
been  discovered,  it  would  have  involved  all  concerned  in 
certain  and  immediate  destruction.  Nelson  and  Sir  William 
Hamilton  kept  away  from  Court. 

"  The  whole  correspondence"  (says  Nelson  in  his  letter  to  Lord 
St  Vincent)  "  relative  to  this  important  business  was  carried  on 
with  the  greatest  address  by  Lady  Hamilton  and  the  queen ; 
who  being  constantly  in  the  habit  of  correspondence,  no  one 
could  suspect.  It  would  have  been  highly  imprudent  either 
in  Sir  William  Hamilton  or  myself  to  have  gone  to  Court,  as 
we  knew  that  all  our  movements  were  watched,  and  that  even 
an  idea  was  entertained  by  the  Jacobins  of  arresting  our  per- 
sons as  a  hostage — as  they  foolishly  imagined — against  the 
attack  of  Naples,  should  the  French  get  possession  of  it."  ^ 

A  subterraneous  passage  led  from  the  queen's  apartments  to 
the  shore.  This  was  explored  by  Nelson  and  Lady  Hanulton, 
and  through  this  passage,  for  several  nights,  the  jewels  and 
treasure  of  the  royal  family  were  conveyed.     On  the  21st  of 

^  Lord  Nelson  to  Lord  Spencer,  lltli  December;  Harrison,  i.  378. 

"-  Ibid. 

'  Nelson  to  Lord  St  Vincent,  26th  December  1798.  The  private  property  of 
Sir  William  Jlaniilton,  amonnting  to  between  £30,000  and  £40,000,  was 
sacrificed  to  secure  secrecy  and  prevent  the  alarm  which  mit^lit  have  been 
occasioned  by  its  removal. — Pettigrcw,  ii.  618.' 


LADY    HAMILTON.  239 

December,  at  half-past  eight  o'clock  iii  the  evening,  three 
barges,  with  Nelson  and  Captain  Hope  on  board,  landed  at  a 
corner  of  the  arsenal.  Leaving  Captain  Hope  in  charge  of  the 
boats,  Nelson  went  to  the  palace,  brought  out  the  whole  of 
the  royal  family,  placed  them  in  the  boats,  and  witliin  an 
hour  they  were  in  safety  on  the  deck  of  the  Vanguard.^ 

Lady  Hamilton  was  their  only  attendant.  But  even  here, 
though  in  safety,  their  distresses  did  not  cease.  On  the  24th, 
says  Nelson,  "  it  blew  harder  than  I  ever  experienced  since  I 
have  been  at  sea."  The  next  day,  shortly  after  their  arrival 
at  Palermo,  the  youngest  child  of  the  queen,  a  boy  of  seven 
years  of  age,  died  in  Lady  Hamilton's  arms.^ 

We  now  come  to  those  events  with  regard  to  which  obloquy 
has  been  thrown  most  abundantly,  and  most  unjustly,  upon 
the  memory  of  Lady  Hamilton. 

In  our  last  Number  we  showed  what  the  true  character  of 
the  occurrences  which  took  place  in  the  Bay  of  Naples  in  tlie 
month  of  June  1799  was.  With  those  events,  however,  what- 
ever judgment  may  be  formed  upon  them,  Lady  Hamilton  had 
nothing  whatever  to  do.  The  vitality  of  a  lie  is  wonderful. 
Let  the  most  improbable  tale  be  but  told  with  suflicient  confi- 
dence, and  instead  of  inquiring  whether  there  is  any  evidence 

^  The  following  nicniorandum  of  the  order  for  this  proceeding  is  interesting  : 
the  original  remained  in  the  possession  of  Captain  Hope,  the  words  in  italics 
being  in  Nelson's  own  handwriting  :  — 

"Most  secret. 

"Naples,  Dec.  20,  1798. 

"Tlirec  barges  and  the  small  cutter  of  the  Alcmena  armed  with  cutlasses 
only,  to  be  at  the  Victoria  at  half-past  seven  o'clock  precisely.  Only  one 
barge  to  be  at  the  wharf,  the  others  to  lay  on  their  oars  at  the  outside  of  the 
rocks— the  small  barge  of  the  Vanguard  to  be  at  the  wharf.  The  above  boats 
to  be  on  board  the  Alcmena  before  seven  o'clock,  under  the  direction  of  Cap- 
tain Hope.     Orapneh  to  be  in  (he  boats. 

"All  the  other  boats  of  the  Vanguard  and  Alcmena  to  be  armed  with  cut- 
lasses, and  the  launches  with  carronades,  to  assemble  on  board  the  Vanguard, 
under  the  direction  of  Captain  Hardy,  and  to  put  off  from  her  at  lialf-jiast 
eight  o'clock  precincli/,  to  row  halficuy  fovards  the  Mala  Fiylio.  These  boats  to 
have  4  or  G  soldiers  in  them.  In  case  assisttincc  is  wanted  by  mc,  false  fira  will 
be  bicrnt.  Nki.son. 

"  Tli£  Alcmena  to  be  ready  to  slip  in  the  night  if  necessary." 
— Nelson  Despatches,  iii.  20G. 

-  Ilanisou's  Life  of  Nelson,  i.  384 — Nulsou  to  lA)rd  St  A'inccnt. 


210  VINDICATKJNS. 

to  .siij)])ort  it,  nine  111011  out  of  ten  will  begin  to  account  for  it 
oil  .some  favourite  hypothesis.  Nelson,  the  most  faithful  and 
most  humane  of  men,  is  charged  witli  perfidy  and  murder;  and 
thereupon  every  one,  from  Dr  Southey  to  Lord  Brougham, 
without  the  slightest  inquiry  into  the  evidence,  which  would 
liave  disproved  the  charge  at  once,  accepts  the  position,  and 
begins  to  account  for  it.  We  must  refer  our  readers  to  a 
ft)riner  paper  for  a  narrative  of  the  facts  with  regard  to  those 
transactions.  The  most  definite,  the  most  malignant,  and  the 
falsest  account  will  be  found  in  Captain  I'renton's  '  Naval 
History.'  Accusing  Nelson  of  the  foulest  and  basest  of  crimes 
("treachery  and  murder"  are  the  words  freely  Itandied  about 
among  the  various  slanderers),  he  charges  Lady  Hamilton  with 
having  been  the  instigator  of  his  conduct.  After  describing 
the  execution  of  Caracciolo,  he  says  :  "  At  the  last  fatal  scene 
she  was  present,  and  seems  to  have  enjoyed  the  sight.  ^Miile 
the  body  was  yet  hanging  at  the  yard-arm  of  the  frigate, '  Come,' 
said  she  — '  come,  Bronte,  let  us  take  the  barge  and  have 
another  look  at  poor  Caracciolo  ! '  The  barge  was  manned, 
and  they  rowed  round  the  frigate,  and  satiated  their  eyes  with 
the  appalling  spectacle."  ^ 

In  his  attempt  to  be  circumstantial.  Captain  Brentou  has 
betrayed  himself.  Nelson  was  not  Duke  of  Bronte  until  the 
13th  of  August  following.^ 

But  apart  from  this,  the  whole  story  is  proved,  by  the  most 
conclusive  evidence,  to  be  a  fabrication. 

Immediately  upon  the  appearance  of  Captain  Brenton's 
work,  the  scene  of  rowing  round  the  Minerva  was  solemnly 
and  indignantly  denied  by  one  of  the  survivors  of  Nelson's 
seamates,  of  the  name  of  John  !Mitford,  in  a  letter  which  he 
addressed  to  the  '  ^Morning  Post.' 

Captain  Brenton  attempts,  in  his  second  edition,  to  discredit 
this  man's  assertion,  upon  no  better  ground  than  that  he 
"  lodged  over  a  coal-shed  in  some  obscure  street  near  Leicester 
Square."  AVhat  there  maybe  in  that  circumstance  that  should 
disentitle  him  to  credit  we  must  leave  Captain  Brenton  to 
explain.     Many  a  brave  fellow  has  been  reduced  to  a  greater 

Brenton's  Naval  History,  i.  483.  -  Nelson  Despatches,  iiL  493. 


LADY    HAMILTON.  241 

extremity,  who  can  still  feel  his  heart  swell  \Yith  indignation 
at  the  groundless  slanders  which  have  been  vented  against  the 
hero  who  led  him  in  the  path  to  glory.  I'ut  this  matter  is 
now  set  at  rest  for  ever.  Commodore  Sir  Francis  Augustus 
Collier,  a  most  distinguished  officer,  who  was  on  board  the 
Foudroyant  at  the  time,  has  in  manly  and  emphatic  words 
denounced  the  whole  story  as  "  an  arrant  falsehood!'  ^ 

As  Caracciolo  was  hanged  on  the  Minerva,  and  Lady 
Hamilton  remained  on  board  the  Foudroyant,  v/e  never  could 
understand  very  clearly  what  was  meant  by  the  assertion, 
wliich  has  been  so  often  repeated,  that  she  was  "  present  at  the 
execution,"  ^  Whatever  was  meant  by  this  statement,  we  arc 
happy  to  have  it  in  our  power  to  contradict  it  on  the  best  pos- 
sible authority.  The  late  Lord  Northwick,  who  was  in  the  Bay 
of  Naples  at  the  time  in  question,  told  Mr  Mulready  that  he 
distinctly  remembered  being  at  dinner  in  company  with  Lady 
Hamilton  in  Nelson's  cabin,  when  they  heard  the  gun  fired 
which  announced  the  execution  of  Caracciolo.  We  have  the 
authority  of  Mr  IMulready  for  this  anecdote,  and  we  thus 
destroy  the  last  shred  of  the  calumny. 

There  does  not  appear  to  be  the  slightest  foundation  for  the 
assertion,  so  often  repeated,  that  the  queen  and  Lady  Hamilton 
entertained  feelings  of  personal  hostility  against  Caracciolo. 
The  queen,  writing  to  her  a  few  days  after  the  execution, 
says:  "I  have  seen  also  the  sad  and  merited  end  of  the 
unfortunate  and  mad-brained  Caracciolo.  /  am  sensible  how 
much  your  excellent  Jieart  must  have  suffered."  ^  These  are 
not  the  expressions  of  hatred,  malignity,  or  exultation.  Nor 
are  we  aware  of  one  particle  of  evidence  to  show  that  Lady 
Hamilton  ever  used  her  influence  except  on  the  side  of 
Immanity  and  mercy. 

We  may  therefore  leave  the  malignant  slanders  of  Captain 
Brenton  to  the  contempt  which  they  deserve.  The  vai)i(l 
moralities  and  turgid  periods  with  which  Lord  l>rougham 
winds  up  his  sketch  of  Nelson  are  unworthy  of  him.  Lord 
Holland,  whose  own  moral  sense  was  so  singularly  constituted 
that  he  considered  adultery  committed  by  a  queen  "  neitlier 

^  Nelson  De-siuUlu-s,  iii.  .^22.  »  .Southcy,  201.  Muly  2,  179i». 

Q 


242  VTNDTOATTONS. 

scandiilnus  nor  dcrrradinf,' !"  ^  lias  tlio  following  passajje  upon 
tlic  coltlness  with  wliich  it  is  said  Kelson  was  received  at 
Court:  "His  amour  with  Lady  Hamilton,  if  amour  it  was, 
shocked  the  king's  morality;  and  though  the  'perfidies  ami 
nmnJem  to  which  it  led  were  perpetrated  in  the  cause  of 
royalty,  they"  [i.e.,  the  perfidies  and  mtirders /]  "could  not 
wash  away  the  original  sin  of  indecoi-um  in  the  eye  of  his 
majesty."  - 

Sheridan's  fancy  never  soared  so  high  as  this.  He  would 
not  have  dared  to  put  such  a  sentence  into  the  mouth  even  of 
Sir  Benjamin  Backbite.  The  "original  sin"  of  indecorum 
washed  away  hy  tlie  baptism  of  "perfidy  and  murder"  !  But 
wo  need  not  waste  time  upon  these  daiing  metaphors.  The 
brilliant  coterie  of  Holland  House  is  among  the  things  of  th»; 
past ;  and  it  would  have  been  better  if  the  reputation  of  its 
owner  had  been  allowed  to  rest  upon  its  traditions. 

It  has  been  the  custom  to  speak  of  Lady  Hamilton  as  an 
"  artful"  woman.  We  can  find  nothing  to  justify  the  epithet. 
On  the  contrary,  we  believe  that  she  owed  much  of  the  in- 
fluence she  acquired  over  the  minds  of  such  men  as  Nelson, 
St  Vincent,  Troubridge,  and  Ball,  to  the  very  opposite  qualities. 
It  was  her  generous  and  impulsive  nature  that  charmed  them, 
fully  as  much  as  her  beauty  or  her  talents. 

The  nature  of  her  intimacy  with  Nelson  will  probably  re- 
main for  ever  an  enigma.  The  more  closely  the  evidence  is 
examined,  the  more  perplexing  does  the  inquiry  become.  Con- 
fident assertion  in  this,  as  in  most  other  cases,  is  confined 
almost  exclusively  to  those  who  know  least  of  the  subject. 

There  cannot  be  a  stronger  proof  of  this  difficulty  than  that 
which  is  derived  from  the  fact,  that  the  two  latest  biographers 
of  Nelson,  both  of  whom  have  devoted  infinite  labour  to  the 
inquiry,  have  arrived  at  diametrically  opposite  conclusions. 
Dr  Pettigrew  is  convinced  that  Horatia  was  the  daughter  of 


*  "She  [Madame  Canipau]  was,  in  fact,  the  confederate  of  Marie  Antoi- 
nette's amours.  Those  amours  were  not  numerous,  scandalous,  or  degrading, 
but  they  it'crt:  rt??ioio's" — Lord  Holland's  Foreign  Keminisccnccs,  18;  the /«<■/ 
Knug,  that  there  were  no  amours  at  all. 

"  Jlomnirs  of  the  Whig  Tarty,  ii.  30  ;  Roso's  Diary,  i.  219. 


LADY    HAMILTON.  243 

Lady  Hamilton,^  and  Sir  Harris  Nicolas  is  equally  convinced 
that  she  was  not,"^     Those  who  were  most  likely  to  be  well        ^ 
informed  upon  the  subject — Lord  St  Vincent,  Hardy,  Dr  Scott, 
his  confidential  friend  and  professional  adviser  i^Ir  Haslewood, 
and,  we  may  add,  the  several  members  of  his  own  family — seem        i 
to  have  considered  Nelson's   attachment  to  Lady  Hamilton        I 
purely  Platonic.     The  evidence  in  support  of  this  view  of  the        f 
case  is  collected  in  the  seventh  volume  of  the  '  Nelson  De- 
spatches,' p.  369  to  396.    We  confess  that,  notwithstanding 
this  formidable  mass  of  evidence,  and  the  highly  respectable 
opinions  by  which  it  is  supported,  we  feel  ourselves  compelled 
reluctantly  to  express  our  own  opinion  that  Horatia  was  the 
daughter  not  only  of  Nelson,  of  which  there  appears  to  be  little 
or  no  doubt,  but  of  Lady  Hamilton  also.      It  is  somewhat 
singular  that  in  this  case  it  is  the  maternity  of  the  child  that 
is  disputed,  whilst  the  paternity  seems  to  be  admitted  on  all 
hands. 

We  would  willingly  pass  over  this  portion  of  the  histor}^ 
avoiding  equally,  on  the  one  hand,  the  error  of  palliating  a  de- 
parture from  the  strict  rules  of  morality  ;  and,  on  the  other, 
tlie  assumption  of  a  rigid  censorship. 

Tlie  gentle  philosophy  of  Burns  teaches  us  the  truest  charit}'. 

"  Wlio  made  the  heart,  'tis  lie  aloue 
Decidedly  can  tiy  us  ; 
He  knows  each  chord — its  various  tone  ; 
Each  spring — its  various  bias. 

"  Then  at  the  balance  let's  be  mute, 
We  never  can  adjust  it. 
What's  done  we  partly  may  compute, 
But  never  what's  resisted." 

We  must  pass  on  to  the  fatal  and  glorious  day  when  Nelson, 
with  the  strange  presentiment  which  dictated  his  farewell  to 
CJaptain  Blackwood,  retired  from  the  deck  of  the  Victory  to 
commune  in  silence  with  his  own  heart.  Not  alone — for  One, 
whose  "  good  and  faithful  servant"  he  had  been,  was  with  him. 
To  Him  he  poured  out  his  heart,  and  the  prayer  of  the  hero 
was  answered. 

"  May  the  great  God  whom  I  worship  grant  to  my  country, 
1  Vol.  ii.  G55.  =  Nelson  Dispatclies,  vii.  369,  393. 


2.\/\  VINDICATIONS. 


illHl    1(11 


it  he  liciicfit  of  Kiirn].('  ill  freiicral,  a  {,'rcat  and  glorious  vic- 
tory ;  iiiid  may  no  misconduct  in  any  on(!  tarnisli  it;  and  may 
liumanity  alter  victory  bo  the  predominant  feature  in  tiie 
liritish  fleet.  For  myself,  individually,  I  commit  my  life  to 
Him  who  made  mc,  and  may  Ilis  hlcssing  light  upon  my  en- 
deavours for  serving  my  country  faithfully.  To  llim  I  resign 
m)'self  and  the  joint  cause  which  is  intrusted  to  me  to  de- 
fend.— Amen,  amen,  amen." 

Fitting  words  for  one  who  felt  the  dark  shadow  of  death 
drawing  closer  and  closer  to  him,  and  becoming  more  and  more 
distinct  in  the  brilliant  light  of  victory. 

In  that  memorable  hour  he  wrote  the  following  codicil  to 
his  will : — 

"  Victory,  Octuher  the  2\st,  1805,  then  in  sight  of  the  com- 
bined fleets  of  France  and  Spain,  distant  about  ten 
miles. 

"  Whereas  the  eminent  services  of  Emma  Hamilton,  widow 
of  the  Plight  Hon.  Sir  Wm.  Hamilton,  have  been  of  the  verj' 
greatest  service  to  our  King  and  country,  and,  to  my  know- 
ledge, without  receiving  any  reward  from  either  our  King  or 
country : 

"  First,  that  she  obtained  the  King  of  Spain's  letter  in  1796 
to  his  brother  the  King  of  Naples,  acquainting  him  of  his  in- 
tention to  declare  war  against  England,  and  from  which  letter 
the  Ministry  sent  out  orders  to  the  then  Sir  John  Jervls  to 
strike  a  stroke,  if  opportunity  offered,  either  against  the  ar- 
senals of  Spain  or  her  fleets :  that  neither  of  them  was  done 
is  not  the  fault  of  Lady  Hamilton — the  opportunity  might 
have  been  offered. 

"  Secondly,  The  British  fleet  under  my  command  would 
never  have  returned  a  second  time  to  Egypt,  had  not  Lady 
Hamilton's  influence  with  the  Queen  of  Naples  caused  letters 
to  be  wrote  to  the  Governor  of  Syracuse  that  he  was  to  en- 
courage the  fleet  being  supplied  with  everything,  should  they 
put  into  that  port  in  Sicily.  We  put  into  Syracuse,  and  re- 
ceived every  supply,  went  to  Egypt  and  destroyed  the  French 
fleet.     Could  I  have  rewarded  those  services,  I  would  not  mnc 


LADY    HAMILTON.  245 

call  upon  my  countiy ;  but  as  that  has  not  been  in  my  power, 
I  leave  Emma  Lady  Hamilton,  theief(jre,  a  legacy  to  my  King 
and  country,  that  they  will  give  an  ample  provision  to  main- 
tain her  rank  in  life. 

"  I  also  leave  to  the  beneficence  of  my  country  my  adopted 
daughter,  Horatia  Nelson  Thompson  ;  and  I  desire  she  will  use 
in  future  the  name  of  Nelson  only.  These  are  the  only  favours 
I  ask  of  my  King  and  country,  at  this  moment  when  I  am 
going  to  figlit  their  battle. 

"  May  God  bless  my  King  and  country,  and  all  those  who  I 
love  dear.  IMy  relatives  it  is  needless  to  mention  ;  they  will, 
of  course,  be  amply  provided  for. 

"  Nelson  &  Bronte. 

"  Witness — Henry  Blackwood. 
T.  U.  Hardy." 

When  the  victory  was  won,  and  the  victor  was  dying,  the 
last  words  he  spoke  were — 

"  Hemembcr  that  I  leave  Lady  Hamilton  and  my  daughter 
Horatia  as  a  legacy  to  my  country.  Never  forget  Horatia." 
He  became  inarticulate.  But  the  one  great  abiding  principle 
which  had  dictated  the  signal  which  flew  from  ship  to  ship  on 
that  morning  was  still  there.  With  much  effort  he  distinctly 
said — "  TiiAXK  God,  I  have  done  uy  duty."  He  closed  his 
eyes — once  more  opened  them — and  the  mighty  and  victorious 
spirit  was  fled.^ 

How  England  has  responded  to  that  appeal  is  but  too  well 
known. 

The  codicil  was  faithfully  delivered  by  Captain  Blackwood 
to  the  Kev.  William  Nelson,  who,  with  his  wife  and  family 
(one  of  them  a  daughter,  who  had  been  under  her  exclusive 
care  for  six  years,),  was  residing  with  Lady  HamiltoiL  He 
suppressed  it  until  the  day  when  £120,000  was  voted  in  Par- 
liament to  uphold  the  name  and  title  of  the  hero,  wlien,  dining 
at  Lady  Hamilton's  table,  he  produced  it ;  and,  throwing  it  to 
her,  coarsely  said,  she  miglit  now  do  with  it  as  slie  pleased. 
Lady  Hamilton  had  it  registered  in  Doctors'  Commons  tlie 
next  day. 

'  Nelson  Despatches,  vii.  251. 


w 


246  VINDICATIONS. 

It  is  tlilVicult  to  find  words  to  express  the  meanness  of  Nel- 
son's brother.  He  fawned,  he  crawled,  he  grovelled  ;  no  flattery 
was  too  fulsome,  no  adulation  too  abject,  to  express  his  devotion 
to  Lady  ITaniilton  so  long  as  she  was  powerful  and  prosperous, 
lie  intrusted  his  daughter,  from  her  earliest  youtF,  to  be  her 
habitual  companion.  He  sought  preferment  in  the  Churcli 
through  her  influence.  Writing  to  her  in  1801,  he  says  :  "  I 
am  told  there  are  two  or  three  very  old  lives,  prebends  of  Can- 
terbury, in  the  Minister's  gift — near  six  hundred  pounds  a-year, 
5  and  good  houses.  The  Deans  of  Hereford,  Exeter,  Lichfield 
I  and  Coventry,  York  and  "Winchester,  are  old  men." 

But  soon  afterwards  his  ambition  rose  above  prebendal  stalls 
and  deaneries.  In  the  same  year  he  writes  :  "  Now  we  have 
secured  the  peerage,  we  have  only  oyic  thing  to  ask,  and  that 
is,  my  promotion  in  the  Church,  handsomely  and  honourably, 
such  as  becomes  Lord  Nelson's  brother  and  heir-apparent  to 
the  title.  iVo  ind-off  with  small  heggarly  stalls.  Mr  Adding- 
ton  must  be  kept  steady  to  that  point.  I  am  sure~Nelson  is 
doing  everything  for  him.  But  a  word  is  enough  for  your  good 
sensible  heart." 

No  sooner  had  he  secured  for  himself  the  wealth  and  honours 
earned  by  Nelson,  than  he  was  the  first  to  betray  and  desert  her. 

An  avenging  Nemesis  awaited  him.  He  lived  to  old  age, 
and  saw  his  only  son  perish  before  him. 

"  For  BaiKiuo's  issue  had  he  filed  his  mind." 

No  drop  of  the  blood  of  that  degenerate  brother  flows  in  the 
veins  of  the  present  inheritor  of  Nelson's  honours. 

We  altogether  repudiate  the  doctrine  that  there  is  to  be  one 
rule  of  morality  for  one  man,  and  a  different  rule  for  another. 
But  in  forming  a  judgment  upon  character,  we  must  take  the 
whole  character  into  account.  A  man  is  not  poor  because  his 
debts  are  large.  His  wealth  is  determined  not  by  the  amount 
of  items  on  the  debit  side  of  his  account,  but  by  the  balance 
at  the  end  of  it.  When  ^Ir  Peter  Perkins  abandons  his  mid- 
dle-aged, uninteresting,  and  not  very  good-tempered  wife  for 
society  more  agreeable  to  his  taste,  he  becomes  banknipt  in 
morality.     He  owed  to  society  an  observance  of  its  rules,  but 


LADY    HAMILTON.  24*7 

society  owed  nothing  to  him.  When  some  dashing  "  Lorutte  " 
tcnniuates  her  disreputable  career  by  marrying  a  foolish  young 
man  of"  fortune  or  a  superannuated  millionaire,  the  world  pities 
the  young  simpleton,  or  despises  the  old  one,  and  troubles  itself 
no  more  about  them.  If  Lady  Hamilton's  career  had  termi- 
nated with  her  marriage,  we  should  by  this  time  only  have 
regarded  her  with  the  same  kind  of  interest  which  induces  us 
to  ask,  as  we  gaze  on  the  canvas  of  llcynolds,  who  was  "Nelly 
O'lhien  or  Emily  Bertie  ?  But  with  her  marriage  Ijcgins  the 
other  side  of  the  account.  What  does  the  world  owe  to  Lady 
Hamilton  ?  England  owes  her  the  victory  of  the  Nile.  That 
one  item  is  so  large  that  it  leads  one  to  forget  the  other  acts 
which  earned  her  the  gratitude,  not  of  Nelson  alone,  but  of  St 
Vincent,  Troubridge,  and  the  other  "  lions  of  the  deep  "  who 
shared  his  glory.  The  world  owes  to  her  that  the  sister  of 
Marie  Antoinette  did  not  share  her  horrible  fate — that  another 
head,  as  fair  as  that  which  fell  into  the  basket  of  sawdust  in 
front  of  the  Tuileries  on  the  16th  of  October  1793,  did  not  roll 
on  the  scaffold  at  Naples  in  1799.  When  we  come  to  take  the 
account,  as  it  stood  between  the  world  and  Lady  H;imilton 
when  it  finally  closed  in  1815,  we  find  it  strangely  changed 
since  1791.  The  balance  has  turned.  It  is  the  world,  it  is 
humanity,  that  is  the  debtor.  It  is  England  that  is  bankrupt, 
and  repudiates  her  debt. 

We  know  few  characters  of  which  it  is  so  difficult  to  form  a 
just  and  impartial  estimate  as  that  of  Lady  Hamilton.  Hap- 
pily it  is  not  our  duty  to  mete  out  reward  or  punishment. 
Few,  if  any,  have  ever  been  exposed  to  such  dangers  and  such 
temptations.  The  most  precious  gifts  of  Providence,  bodily 
and  mental,  which  were  lavished  upon  her  in  profusion,  were 
but  so  many  additional  snares  in  her  path.  "With  all  her 
faults,"  says  one  who  was  by  no  means  disposed  to  extenuate 
those  faults,  "  her  goodness  of  heart  is  undeiiialjle.  She  was 
the  frequent  intercessor  with  Nelson  for  oflendiiig  sailors  ;  and 
in  every  vicissitude  of  her  fortune  she  manifested  the  warmest 
alh'ction  for  her  mother,  and  showed  the  greatest  kindness  to 
a  host  of  discreditable  relations."  ^  Her  husband,  with  his 
1  Nelson  Despatches,  vii.  390. 


248  VINDICATIONS. 

dyin^'  hiciitli,  bore  witness  tluil,  during  "  the  ten  yf-ars  ol'  their 
hiippy  iuii()ii,Hhe  liad  never,  in  thoiiglil,  word,  or  deed,  oHended 
liim." 

Of  her  virtues,  unliapi)ily,  prudence  was  not  one.  After  tlie 
death  of  Nelson,  and  the  disj^racelul  disregard  of  her  claims  by 
the  Government,  her  affairs  became  greatly  embarrassed.  Those 
who  owed  wealth  and  honour  to  Nelson,  and  who  had  sunned 
themselves  in  her  prosperity,  shrank  away  from  her.  In  her 
distress  she  wrote  a  most  touching  letter  to  one  who  had 
courted  her  smiles  in  other  days,  the  Duke  of  Queensberry, 
imploring  him  to  buy  the  little  estate  at  Merton,  which  had 
l)een  left  to  her  by  Nelson,  and  thus  to  relieve  her  from  her 
most  pressing  embarrassments.  The  cold-hearted  old  profli- 
gate turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  request.  In  1813,  Emma  Hamil- 
ton was  a  prisoner  for  debt  in  the  King's  Bench.  Deserted  by 
the  great,  the  noble,  and  the  wealthy,  abandoned  by  the  heir 
of  his  title  and  the  recipient  of  his  hard-earned  rewards,  she, 
whom  Nelson  had  left  as  a  legacy  to  his  country,  might  have 
died  in  a  jail.  From  this  fate  she  was  saved  by  one  whose 
name  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  brilliant  circle  who  surrounded 
her  but  a  few  short  years  before.  Alderman  Joshua  Jonathan 
Smith  (let  all  honour  be  paid  to  his  most  plebeian  name) 
redeemed  his  share  of  his  country's  debt,  and  obtained  her  re- 
lease. She  iled  to  Calais,  and,  soon  after  her  aiTival,  vrrote  the 
following  letter  to  the  Eight  Hon.  Geo.  Eose,  who,  most  hon- 
ourably to  himself,  had  been  unremitting,  though  unsuccessful, 
in  his  attempts  to  enforce  her  claims  upon  the  Government. 

"  Hotel  Dessix,  Calais,  July  4,  1813. 

"We  arrived  here  safe,  my  dear  sir,  after  three  days'  sick- 
ness at  sea — as,  for  precaution,  we  embarked  at  the  Tower. 
]Mr  Smith  got  me  the  discharge  from  Lord  Ellenborough. 

"  I  then  begged  Mr  Smith  to  withdraw  his  bail,  for  I  would 
have  died  in  prison  sooner  than  that  good  man  should  have 
suffered  for  me ;  and  I  managed  so  well  with  Horatia  alone, 
that  I  was  at  Calais  before  any  new  writs  could  be  issued  out 
against  me.  I  feel  so  much  better  from  change  of  climate, 
food,  air,  large  rooms,  and  liberty,  that  there  is  a  chance  I  may 


LADY    HAMILTON.  249 

live  to  see  my  dear  Iloratia  biouglit  up.  1  am  looking  out  for 
a  lodging.  I  have  au  excellent  Frenclnvoman,  who  is  good  at 
everything ;  for  Iloratia  and  myself,  and  my  old  dame  who  is 
coming,  will  be  my  establishment.  Near  me  is  an  English 
lady,  who  has  resided  here  for  twenty-five  years ;  who  has  a 
day-school,  but  not  for  eating  or  sleeping.  At  eight  in  the 
morning  I  take  Horatia;  fetch  her  at  one;  at  three  we  dine;  and 
then  in  the  evening  we  walk.  She  learns  everything  :  piano, 
harp,  languages  grammatically.  She  knows  French  and  Italian 
well,  but  she  will  still  improve.  Not  any  girls  but  those  of 
the  first  families  go  there.  Last  evening  we  walked  two  miles 
to  a  feU  champetre  2)our  les  hourgeois.  Everybody  is  pleased 
with  Horatia.  The  General  and  his  good  old  wife  are  veiy 
good  to  us ;  but  our  little  world  of  happiness  is  in  ourselves. 
If,  my  dear  sir,  Lord  Sidmouth  would  do  something  for  dear 
Horatia,  so  that  I  can  be  enabled  to  give  her  an  education,  and 
also  for  her  dress,  it  would  ease  me,  and  make  me  very  happy. 
Surely  he  owes  this  to  Nelson.  For  God's  sake  do  try  for  me, 
for  you  do  not  know  how  limited  I  am.  I  have  left  every- 
thing to  be  sold  for  the  creditors,  who  do  not  deserve  any- 
thing ;  for  I  have  been  the  victim  of  artful  mercenary  wretches, 
and  my  too  great  liberality  and  open  heart  has  been  the  dupe 
of  villains.  To  you,  sir,  I  trust,  for  my  dearest  Horatia,  to 
exert  yourself  for  her,  and  that  will  be  an  easy  passport  for 
me."^ 

This  letter,  it  will  be  observed,  is  dated  the  4th  of  July 
1813.  In  eighteen  months  more  the  strange  eventful  life  of 
Emma  Hamilton  was  over.  She  died  in  a  house,  now  No.  Ill 
Kue  rran9aise,  a  street  running  parallel  with  the  southern 
rampart  of  the  town.  Calumny  has  been  busy  even  with  her 
deathbed.  It  was  said  that  imaginary  phantoms  haunted 
her  ;  that  Caracciolo  was  ever  before  her  eyes  ;  that  she 
uttered  agonising  screams  of  repentance  ;  -  that  she  could  not 
endure  to  be  in  the  dark;^  and  other  cahunnies  in  whicli 
there  is  not  one  word  of  truth."*  Dr  Pettigrew,  speaking 
from  information  communicated  to  him  by  Mi-s  Hunter  of 

1  Diary  of  Kij^lit  lion.  Geo.  Hose,  i.  '271.      -  Breiilon's  Nav.  Hist.,  i.  481. 
^  Memoirs  of  Lady  Hamilton,  31)3.  *  Nelson  Dispatches,  iii.  522. 


250  VINDICATIONS. 

15ri;^'htoii,  says  :   "  This  excellent  lady  tells  me,  that  at  the 
time  Liuly  lliimilton  was  at  Calais,  she  was  also  there  super- 
iuteiiding  the  education  of  lier  sou  at  the  academy  of  Mr 
Mills.     She  resided  in  the '  Grande  Place,*  and  became  ac- 
quainted with  Mons.  de  Kheims,  the  English  interpreter,  who 
persuaded  Mrs  Hunter  to  take  up  her  residence  with  him 
in  his  chateau,  which  was  visited  by  many  English.     When 
Lady  Hamilton  fled  to  Calais,  ^Tons.  de  lilieims  gave  her  one  of 
his  small  houses  to  live  in.     It  was  very  badly  furnished.    Mrs 
Hunter  was  in  the  habit  of  ordering  meat  daily  at  a  butcher's 
for  a  favourite  little  dog,  and  on  one  of  these  occasions  was 
met  by  ^lons,   de   Rheims,   who   followed  her,  exclaiming, 
'  Ah,  Madame  !  ah,  Madame  !  I  know  you  to  be  good  to  the 
English ;  there  is  a  lady  here  that  would  be  glad  of  the  worst 
bit  of  meat  you  provide  for  your  dog.'     When  questioned  as 
to  who  the  lady  was,  and  promising  that  she  should  not  want 
for  anything,  he  declined  telling,  saying  that  she  was  too 
proud  to  see  any  one ;  besides,  he  had  promised  her  secrecy. 
Mrs  Hunter  begged  him  to  provide  her  with  everything  she 
required,  wine,  &c.,  as  if  coming  from  himself,  and  she  would 
pay  for  it.     This  he  did  for  some  time,  until  she  became  veiy 
ill,  when  he  pressed  her  to  see  the  lady  who  had  been  so  kind 
to  her ;  and  upon  hearing  that  her  benefactress  was  not  a  person 
of  title,  she  consented,  saw  her,  thanked  her,  and  blessed  her. 
A  few  days  after  sheceased  to  live.     This  lady  describes  her 
to  me  as   exceedingly  beautiful  even  in   death.      She   was 
anxious  to  have  her  inteiTed  according  to  English  custom,  for 
which,  however,  she  was  only  laughed  at,  and  poor  Emma 
was  put  into  a  deal  box  without  any  inscription.     All  that 
this  good  lady  states  she  was  permitted  to  do,  was  to  make  a 
kind  of  pall  out  of  her  black  silk  petticoat,  stitched  on  a  white 
curtain."  ^ 

Not  a  Protestant  clergyman  was  to  be  found  in  Calais,  and 
the  solemn  service  for  the  dead  was  read  over  her  grave  by  an 
Irish  half-pay  officer.  Emma  Hamilton  sleeps  in  what  was 
once  the  pleasure-garden  of  a  woman  almost  equally  famous 
for  her  personal  charms  and  her  strange  adventures  —  the 
'  Pettigrew,  ii.  635. 


LADY   HAMILTON.  251 

beautiful  Elizabeth  Chudleigh,  better  known  as  Duchess  of 
Kingstown.  It  was  consecrated  and  used  as  a  cemetery  until 
1816.  It  was  afterwards  converted  into  a  timber-yard,  and 
no  trace  remains  of  the  grave  of  her  whom  Nelson,  with  his 
dying  voice,  bequeathed  to  the  gratitude  of  his  country  ! 

In  the  office  of  the  Juge  de  Paix  is  an  inventory  of  the 
effects  of  which  she  died  possessed.  They  are  estimated  as  of 
the  value  of  two  hundred  and  twenty-eight  francs — about 
nine  pounds  sterling.  Besides  this  there  were  some  dupli- 
cates for  articles  of  plate  and  trinkets,  which  had  been 
pawned  at  the  Mont  de  Piete. 

The  Eev.  Earl  Nelson  came  over  to  demand  this  property  ! 
but  he  declined  to  pay  any  expenses  that  had  been  incurred.^ 
These  were  discharged  by  Alderman  Smith  and  j\Ir  Cadogan, 
by  the  latter  of  whom  Horatia  was  taken  to  Nelson's  sister, 
Mrs  ^Matcham. 

In  the  Records  of  the  Municipality  of  Calais  is  the  follow- 
ing entry:  "  a.d.  1815,  Janvier  ]5.  —  Dame  Emma  Lyons, 
agee  de  51  ans,  nee  a  Lancashire  en  Angleterre  ;  domiciliee  a 
Calais,  fille  de  Henry  Lyons,  et  de  Marie  Kidd ;  Veuve  de 
William  Llamilton,  est  decede  le  15  Janvier,  1815,  a  une 
heure  aprcs  midi  au  domicile  du  Sieur  Damy,  line  Frau- 
^aise."  ^ 

1  Pettigvcw,  ii.  G3G.  ^  Gallon's  Auuals  of  Calais,  1S2. 


252 


III. 

THE   WIGTOWN    MARTYES.i 
(principal  TULLOCII   iVND   MK   MARK   NAPIER.) 

In  a  ibrmer  Number  (August  1860)  we  had  occasion  to  refer 
to  the  execution  of  two  women,  named  Margaret  M'Lachlan 
and  Margaret  Wilson,  who  have  been  generally  supposed  to 
have  suffered  death  by  drowning  in  the  year  1 685. 

It  was  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of  the  inquiry  we  were 
then  pursuing  to  show  that  Claverhouse  had  no  share  what- 
ever in  that  transaction ;  and  that  Lord  ^Macaulay's  assertion, 
or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  his  insinuation,  to  the  contrary, 
was  based,  if  indeed  it  had  any  foundation  at  all,  on  a  confu- 
sion between  the  celebrated  Colonel  John  Grahame  of  Claver- 
house, and  the  obscure  Colonel  David  Grahame,  his  brother. 
It  had  not,  indeed,  occurred  to  us  to  question  a  fact  which 
had  been  repeated  by  every  historian  of  those  times  from 
Wodrow  downwards ;  and  we  are  indebted  to  the  industry  of 
Mr  Mark  Napier  ^  for  the  production  of  evidence  which,  to  say 
the  least,  raises  a  grave  doubt  wliether  this  story,  so  often 
repeated,  is  worthy  of  any  belief.  The  question  has  been 
debated  with  great  zeal  and  equal  ability  by  Mr  Napier  on 
the  one  side,  and  by  Principal  Tulloch  on  the  other,  the 
powers  of  advocacy  of  each  having  been  sharpened  by  precon- 
ceived opinions  and  cherished  predilections.  The  one  is 
eager  to  wipe  away  a  stain  from  a  dynasty  and  a  party  to 
which  he  is  attached  by  political  opinion  and  sympathy ;  the 
other  is  reluctant  to  surrender  his  belief  in  a  martyrdom 

*  Blackwood's  Magazine,  December  1863. 

^Memoirs  of  Dundee,  ii.  43;  iii.   6SG.      Ciise   for    the   Crown   in   re  the 
Wigtown  Martyrs,  [xissim. 


THE    WIGTOWN    MARTYRS.  253 

filling  a  pathetic  page  in  the  liistory  of  a  Cliurch  famous  for 
the  struggles  it  has  come  through,  and  of  which  he  is  himself 
a  learned  and  accomplished  ornament.  These  feelings  are 
not  to  be  wondered  at ;  but  they  do  not  qualify  either  for 
discharging  impartially  the  functions  of  a  judge  ;  and  we  think 
that  we  shall  be  rendering  an  acceptable  sei-vice  if  we  place 
before  the  reader  the  evidence  on  the  question  in  a  succinct 
form,  and  enable  him  to  deliver  such  verdict  as  may  appear 
most  consonant  with  facts  proved.  We  may  well  hesitate 
before  we  arrive  at  a  conclusion  at  variance  with  that  of  the 
historian  of  '  Tlie  Leaders  of  the  Eeformation ; '  but  the 
biographer  of  those  great  pioneers  in  the  cause  of  truth  and 
freedom  of  opinion  will,  we  know,  be  one  of  the  first  to  rejoice 
if  a  stain  can  be  wiped  away  from  the  history  of  his  country. 
Lord  Macaulay's  version  of  the  tale  is  as  folloAvs  : — 

"  On  the  same  day  (i.e.,  the  11th  of  May  1685),  two  women, 
Margaret  M'Lachlan  and  IMargaret  Wilson,  the  former  an 
aged  widow,  the  latter  a  maiden  of  eighteen,  suffered  death 
for  their  religion  in  Wigtownshire.  They  were  ofiered  their 
lives  if  they  would  consent  to  abjure  the  cause  of  the  insurgent 
Covenanters,  and  to  attend  the  Episcopal  worship.  They  re- 
fused, and  they  were  sentenced  to  be  drowned.  They  were 
carried  to  a  spot  were  the  Solway  overflows  twice  a-day,  and 
fastened  to  stakes  fixed  in  the  sand  between  high  and  low 
water  mark.  The  older  sufferer  was  placed  near  to  the  ad- 
vancing flood,  in  the  hope  that  her  last  agonies  might  terrify 
the  younger  into  submission.  The  sight  was  dreadful.  But 
the  courage  of  the  survivor  was  sustained  by  an  enthusiasm 
as  lofty  as  any  that  is  recorded  in  martyrology.  She  saw  the 
sea  draw  nearer  and  nearer,  but  gave  no  sign  of  alarm.  She 
prayed  and  sang  verses  of  psalms  till  the  waves  clicked  her 
voice.  When  slie  had  tasted  the  bitterness  of  death,  she  was, 
by  a  cruel  mercy,  unbound  and  restored  to  life.  When  she 
came  to  herself,  pitying  friends  and  neighbours  implored  her 
to  yield.  'Dear  ^Margaret,  only  say  God  save  the  king  1'  The 
poor  girl,  true  to  her  stern  theology,  gasped  out  '  May  God 
save  him,  if  it  be  God's  will  !'  Her  friends  crowded  round  the 
presiding  officer.     'She  has  said  it;  indeed,  sir,  she  has  said 


2r)4  VINDICATIONS. 

it.'  '  Will  she  tako  tlu>  abjuration  ?'  lie  demanded.  'Never!' 
slie  exclaimed  ;  '  I  am  Clirist's  ;  let  me  go  !'  And  the  waters 
closed  over  her  for  tlit!  last  tinie."^ 

There  is  cue  point  whicli  it  will  be  well  to  dispose  of  before 
entering  upon  the  question  as  to  how  far  this  story,  so  elo- 
([iiently  told,  deserves  a  place  in  history.  Much  sympathy 
has  been  claimed  for  these  women,  on  the  supposition  that 
they  were  the  victims  of  a  novel  and  unusual  mode  of  death. 
All  capital  punishments  must  be  revolting  ;  new  and  strange 
modes  of  death  are  peculiarly  so.  The  mob  which  gathers 
round  the  gallows  at  Newgate  would  be  horror-struck  if  a 
criminal  were  to  be  guillotined,  instead  of  being  subjected  to  the 
slower  and  severer,  but  more  orthodox,  process  of  hanging. 
A  soldier  shrinks  with  horror  from  the  felon's  death  ;  a  Hindoo 
dreads  above  all  things  the  most  humane  and  painless  mode 
of  extinction  that  has  ever  been  devised,  that  of  being  blown 
from  a  gun,  yet  hears  with  indifference  the  sentence  which 
condemns  him  to  a  more  lingering  death.  In  1685,  drowning 
was  the  ordinary  mode  of  executing  capital  sentences  upon 
females  in  Scotland,  hanging  being  reserved  for  cases  of 
special  atrocity,  as  a  more  ignominious  mode  of  death  ;  2  the 
comparative  amount  of  physical  suffering  attendant  upon 
each  we  have  no  means  of  ascertaining.  Probably  there 
is  not  much  difference  between  suffocation  by  water  and 
suffocation  by  tlie  rope ;  and  it  must  be  remembered  that 
in  England  the  penalty  for  the  crime  of  which  these  two 
women  were  convicted  was  the  far  more  terrible  and  cruel 
death  by  fire  at  the  stake.^  Neither  the  Government  nor  its 
agents  can  therefore  be  justly  held  answerable  for  the  mode 
of  execution  ;  and  the  attendant  horrors,  the  prolonged  agony, 
the  wanton  recall  to  life,  we  shall  find  at  any  rate  to  be  but 
fabulous  additions  to  the  story.  We  may  dismiss  this  matter 
from  our  minds,  and  proceed  to  the  inquiry  whether  there  is 
good  ground  for  believing  that  any  execution  in  fact  took 

'  Macaulay,  i.  501. 

*  Sec  the  cases  of  the  "  Egiptians,"  Pitcairn  Crim.  Tri.,  iii.  559,  560;  of 
Isabel  Alison  and  Marion  Harvey,  hanged  as  accessories  to  the  murder  of 
Archbishop  Sharpe  in  1681 ;  and  of  the  infamous  Jane  Weir. 

3  Case  of  Elizabeth  Gannt,  Oct.  1685. 


THE    WIGTOWN    MARTYRS.  255 

place.  Principal  Tulloch,  \vitli  very  judicious  candour,  admits 
that  the  touching  incidents  depicted  with  such  pathetic  power 
by  Lord  Macaulay — "  the  picturesque  adjuncts  suiTOunding 
the  young  sufferer,  the  '  maiden  of  eighteen ' — are  plainly 
touched  by  the  imaginative  pathos  that  grows  naturally  out  of 
any  such  trial  of  Christian  suffering  and  persecution ; "  that 
they  are,  in  fact,  mere  "  embellishments  " — "  natural  develop- 
ments," as  he  calls  them,  with  which  "  the  Covenanting  imagi- 
nation pictured,  in  lively  and  affecting  colours,  beyond  the 
reality,  the  martyr  scene.  Wodrow's  stories,"  he  says  (and  he 
might  have  added  with  equal  truth.  Lord  IVIacaulay's),  "  every- 
where bear  the  stamp  of  this  imaginary  development."  ^  Like 
a  skilful  advocate  he  thus  casts  away  the  burden  of  proving 
an  almost  impossible  issue.  These  embellishments  are,  he 
argues,  the  natural  incrustations  of  time ;  beautiful  as  they 
are,  they  must  yet  be  sacrificed  to  a  stern  love  of  truth  ;  remove 
them  with  a  bold  and  unsparing  hand,  and  a  solid  foundation 
of  fact  will  be  found  underneath.  Such  is  Principal  Tulloch's 
argument.  We  admit  that  it  is  strictly  logical.  The  issue 
thus  raised  is  narrowed  to  a  very  plain  and  simple  point — 
Were  or  were  not  Margaret  M'Lachlan  and  Margaret  Wilson 
drowned  in  the  waters  of  the  lilednoch,  near  Wigtown,  in  the 
year  1G85  ?  That  they  were  tried,  convicted,  and  condemned 
to  die  for  high  treason,  is  admitted  on  all  hands.  Lord 
Macaulay's  assertion  that  they  "  suffered  death  for  their  rc- 
lifjion  "  ~  is  expressly  contradicted  by  his  own  authority,  AVod- 
row.^  But  we  are  not  now  inquiring  into  the  nature  of  the 
offence  of  which  they  were  convicted,  or  the  justice  of  the 
sentence.  The  simple  question  is,  Was  that  sentence  carried 
into  execution  ?  Principal  Tulloch  justly  observes  :  "  To  this 
question,  viewed  without  prejudice  or  passion,  and  with  no 
other  aim  than  to  find  the  truth,  no  one,  not  even  the  stoutest 

'  The  Wif,'to\vn  Martyrs— Macmilhui'.s  Magazine,  Dec.  18G2,   149-151. 

2  Vol.  i.  .'■.01. 

•'  "  Brought  to  tlit'ir  trial  before  the  Laird  of  La<;,  Colonel  David  CJrahainc, 
Sheriff ;  Major  Windraiii,  Captain  Stnuhan,  and  Provost  Cultrain,  who  gavi- 
all  three  [a  third  prisoner  was  ineludtd  in  tlio  indictment]  an  indictment  for 
RehcU'ion,  BothwcU  Bridge,  Alr'a  Muss,  and  Ixinj:  present  nt  twentj-  field-eon- 
venticles." — Wodrow,  hook  ill.  <-.  ix.  MG. 


2.^)0  VFNIUCATIONH. 

Covenanter — il"  any  sucli  siuviv(! — is  entitled  to  object.  Ilis- 
toiy  can  only  be  benefited  by  the  most  thorough  sifting  of  any 
such  talc.  As  a  mere  historical  ])roblem  the  issue  is  both 
interesting  and  significant." 

The  commission  under  which  these  women  were  tried  bears 
(lat(^  the  27th  of  March  1685.  The  trial  took  place  on  the 
13th  of  April.  1  The  prisoners  were  reprieved  on  the  30th  of 
the  same  month.  The  petition  of  one  of  them  has  been  pre- 
served, and  is  given  at  length  by  Mr  Napier.-  As  the  reprieve 
extends  to  both,  there  appears  to  be  no  reason  to  doubt  that 
both  petitioned.  The  reprieve  is  gi-anted  at  a  "sederunt"  of 
the  Privy  Council,  at  which  eighteen  members  attended ;  and 
it  is  very  material  to  observe,  for  reasons  which  will  presently 
be  stated,  that  the  name  of  the  King's  Advocate,  Sir  George 
INIackenzie,  appears  amongst  those  who  were  present.*  It 
would  seem  that  the  prisoners,  after  their  comdction,  had  been 
removed  from  Wigtown  to  Edinburgh,  as  the  reprieve  is  ad- 
dressed to  the  magistrates  of  the  latter  place,  who  are  thereby 
discharged  from  "  putting  of  the  said  sentence  to  execution." 
It  is  also  important  to  observe,  that  the  reprieve  contains  a 
recommendation  by  the  Privy  Council  that  an  absolute  pardon 
should  be  granted.  Now,  if  these  %vomen  were  in  fact  drowned, 
either  the  Crown  refused  to  comply  with  the  recommendation 
of  the  Privy  Council  (a  most  unusual  and  improbable  course 
in  the  case  of  two  obscure  and  unimportant  criminals,  and  of 
which  not  only  is  there  no  shadow  of  proof,  but,  as  we  shall 
presently  see,  the  strongest  evidence  to  the  contrary),  or  the 
Laird  of  Lagg  and  INIajor  Winram  must  by  some  means  have 
got  possession  of  them  after  their  liberation,  and  in  defiance 
of  the  order  of  the  Privy  Council,  and  of  the  Government 
under  which  they  held  their  commission,  in  open  day,  in  the 
presence  of  the  constituted  authorities  of  the  county  and  burgh 
of  Wigtown,  and  of  hundreds,  if  not  thousands,  of  shuddering 
spectators,  have  murdered  them  in  the  most  deliberate  and 
brutal  manner. 

Those  who  maintain  the  affirmative — viz.,  that  these  women 

'  Sec  petition  of  Margaret  Lauclilaiii ;  Memoirs  of  Dundee,  ii.  SO. 
-  Hn.l.  Mind.,  7 S. 


THE   WIGTOWN   MARTYRS.  257 

were  dro\vned — may  fairly  be  put  to  tlieir  election,  whether 
the  execution  was  consequent  upon  the  conviction,  or  whether 
it  was  the  unauthorised  act  of  Grierson  of  Lagg,  Major  Winram, 
and  their  associates.  It  could  not  be  both.  Each  hypothesis 
is,  as  we  shall  see,  attended  by  its  peculiar  difficulties  ;  and  ac- 
cordingly, as  those  difficulties  present  themselves,  we  find  the 
advocates  for  the  martyrdom  shifting  their  ground,  at  one  mo- 
ment denouncing  the  Government  as  responsible  for  the  act, 
and  the  next  treating  it  as  an  outrage  for  which  the  individual 
actors  were  answerable.  Lord  Macaulay  adopts  the  first  alter- 
native :  he  misstates  the  charge  on  which  the  women  were 
convicted;  he  takes  no  notice  of  the  reprieve,  though- it  was 
lying  before  him  on  the  page  of  Wodrow  to  which  he  refers  ; 
he  does  not  mention  the  name  of  a  single  actor  in  the  scene, 
though  he  leads  his  reader,  in  a  paragraph  immediately  pre- 
ceding that  which  we  have  quoted,  to  imagine  that  one  of  those 
actors  was  Claverhouse ;  and  he  sums  up  the  story  with  these 
words  :  "  Thus  was  Scotland  governed  by  that  prince,  whom 
ignorant  men  have  represented  as  a  friend  of  religious  liberty, 
whose  misfortune  it  was  to  be  too  wise  and  too  good  for  the 
age  in  which  he  lived."  ^ 

Principal  Tulloch  admits  that  he  cannot  "pretend  to  be  able  to 
give  a  satisfactory  answer  "  to  the  fact  of  the  existence  of  the 
reprieve,  and  adds,  "  Wodrow's  suggestion  is  probably  as  good 
as  any  other — that  the  officials  at  Wigtown,  with  Major 
Winram  at  their  head,  carried  out  the  sentence  notwithstand- 
ing the  reprieve."  ^  A  recent  writer,  who  unfortunately  does 
not  possess  either  the  skill  of  Lord  ]\Iacaulay  in  avoiding 
difficulties,  or  the  candour  of  Principal  Tulloch  in  admitting 
them,  after  wandering  in  a  bewildered  manner  through  a  fog  of 
conjectures,  is  at  last  driven  to  the  avowal  that  it  was  "  likeliest 
of  all  that  the  Secretaries  of  State  never  made  tlic  aj^pUcation  for 
a  2}fiTdon,"  ^  which  they  were  directed  to  do  by  the  Privy  Coun- 
cil, with  the  High  Commissioner  at  their  head  !  We  will  not 
]iay  our  readers  so  ill  a  compliment  as  to  occupy  their  time 

1  Sec  retitioii  of  Mm-fjiarct  Lauclilain  ;  Mciiuiirs  of  Dinidoc,  i.  .'i02. 
*  Macniillan's  Maj,'ii/inc,  Decciiibcr  1SC2,  1.^2. 
3  K.liiilmrgh  Kovicw,  July  1803,  21. 

n 


2nR  VINDrcATTONS. 

with  iiiiy  ((tiniiH'iil  \ii)C)ii  tliis  suf^'^cstioii.     Wc  ])refer  to  pro- 
ce(!(l  Jit  once  to  an  investigation  of  tlie  evidence. 

The  first  notice  wliicli  we  find  (and  liere  we  accept  the 
statement  of  the  advocates  for  the  martyrdom)  is  in  an  anony- 
mous pamphlet  printed  in  1G90,  and  is  in  the  following 
words :  "  Item,  The  said  Colonel  or  Lieutenant-General 
James  Douglas,  together  with  the  Laird  of  Lagg  and  Captain 
Winram,  most  illegally  condemned,  and  most  inhumanly 
drowned  at  stakes,  within  the  sea-mark,  two  women  at  Wig- 
town— viz.,  Margaret  Lauchlanc^  upwards  of  sixty  years,  and 
Margaret  Wilson,  about  twenty  years  of  age,  the  foresaid 
fatal  year  1G85."  This  pamphlet  (the  statement  in  which  is 
repeated  almost  vcrhatini  in  another  anonymous  pamphlet  two 
years  afterwards)  is  said  to  have  been  prepared  for  the  pur- 
pose of  being  laid  before  the  Prince  of  Orange  —  a  purjjose 
which  was  afterwards  abandoned.  Being  avowedly  a  "  me- 
morial of  the  grievances,  past  and  present,  of  the  Presbyte- 
rians," the  charge,  as  might  be  expected,  shapes  itself  against 
the  Government.  But  in  another  anonymous  pamphlet  wliich 
appeared  in  the  following  year,  entitled  '  A  Second  Vindica- 
tion of  the  Church  of  Scotland,'  the  charge  assumes  a  totally 
different  form.  "  Some  gentlemen  {ivliosc  names,  out  of  rcqied 
to  them,  I  forhear  to  mention)  took  two  women,  Margaret 
Lauchland  and  Margaret  Wilson,  the  one  of  sixty,  the  other 
of  twenty  years,  and  caused  them  to  be  tied  to  a  stake  within 
the  sea-mark  at  Wigtown,  and  left  them  there  till  the  tide  over- 
flowed them  and  drowned  them  ;  and  this  was  done  without  any 
legal  trials  Here  we  find  the  charge  specifically  made,  against 
persons  whom  the  author  is  too  polite  to  mention,  of  a  deliberate 
murder  without  even  the  forms  of  law.  What  reliance  can 
we  place  on  anonymous  testimony  so  vague  and  so  contradic- 
tory ?  Yet  this  is  all  that,  upon  the  widest  construction  of 
the  words,  can  be  considered  as  contemporary  evidence  in  sup- 
port of  the  martyrdom.  The  next  year,  however,  we  come 
upon  a  piece  of  evidence  which  we  cannot  but  consider 
of  the  greatest  value.  One  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of 
that  time  was  undoubtedly  Sir  George  Mackenzie  of  Eose- 
haugh.      He  was  appointed  King's  Advocate   in  September 


THE   WIGTOWN    MARTYRS.  259 

1G77  ;  but  after  discharging  the   duties  of  that  office  with 
singular  ability  for  more  than  ten  years,  he  was  found  not 
sufficiently  pliant  to  the  wishes  of  the  Government,  and  was 
dismissed  in  ]\Iay  168G.    After  a  retirement  of  nearly  two  years, 
he  was  restored  to  his  office,  in  which  he  continued  up  to  the 
time  of  the  Eevolution.     After  that  cA^ent  he  resided  first  in 
Oxford,  and  afterwards  in  London,  until  his  death.^      In  1G91 
his  well-known  '  Vindication '  was  published.    He  there  says : 
"There  were  indeed  two  women    executed,  and  hit   Uoo,   in 
both  these  reigns  {i.e.,  Charles  II.  and  James  II.),  and  they 
were  punished  for  the  most  heinous  crimes,  which  no  sex 
should  defend.     Their  crimes  were  that  they  recepted  and 
entertained  for  many  months  together  the  murderers  of  Arch- 
bishop  Sharpe,'    &c.      The   women    here   referred   to    were 
named  Marion  Harvie  and  Isabel  Alison,  and  they  sufi'ered 
as  accessories  after  the  fact   to  one  of  the  most  cruel  and 
cowardly  nnirders  that  history  records.^     It  will  be  remem- 
bered that  Sir  George  Mackenzie,  then  King's  Advocate,  was 
present  at  the  meeting  of   the  Privy  Council  at  which  the 
reprieve  was  granted  to  the  Wigtown  women,  and  by  w'hich 
their  pardon  was  recommended.     It  is  impossible  to  suppose 
that  these  women  could  have  been  executed  without  the  fact 
having  come  to  his  knowledge  ;  and  it  is  equally  impossible 
to  suppose  that  he  could  have  been  guilty  of  a  deliberate 
falsehood,  certain  as  he  must  have  been  of  immediate  detec- 
tion and  exposure.     Accordingly,  we  find  that  the  '  Vindica- 
tion '  was  answered  in  the   following  year,  yet  no  mention 
is  made  of  either  Margaret  M'Lachlan  or  INIargaret  Wilson 
by  his  anonymous  opponent.     The  fact  of  the  reprieve,  fol- 
lowed by  this  simple,  plain,  and  uncontradicted  assertion  of 
Sir    George   Mackenzie,    would,    even    if  it  stood  alone,  be 
sufficient,  in   our   opinion,   to   outweigh    any    statements   of 
anonymous  and  self-contradicting  pamphleteers. 

It  appears  to  us  conclusive  that  the  drowning,  if  it  ever 
took  place  at  all,  must  have  been  in  violation,  and  not  in 
execution,  of  the  law. 

iPountainhall,  i.  171;  ii.  723,  855. 

-  Sir  Geo.  Mnckcnzic's  Works,  ii.  348  ;  Niiiticr's  Case  for  tlie  Crown,  48. 


200  VINDICATIONS. 

Tills,  indeed,  Principal  Tullocli  in  substance  admits. 

Lot  us,  then,  sec  how  far  the  evidence  supports  this  second 
liypotliosis — viz.,  that  the  women  were  murdered,  in  defiance 
of  hiw,  l>y  Winrani,  Lagg,  and  tlieir  associates,  the  agents  of 
the  law. 

TJie  scene  is  laid  in  1G85.  The  Revolution  was  accom- 
plished, Episcopacy  abolished,  and  the  Presbyterian  Church 
triumphant  in  1G89.^  The  "  rabbling "  of  the  Episcopal 
clergy  took  place  in  the  same  year.  How  does  it  happen  that 
the  only  contemporary  notice  of  a  martyrdom  so  illustrious, 
so  public,  so  calculated  to  awaken  sympathy,  is  to  be  found  in 
the  vague  and  contradictory  pages  of  the  anonymous  pamph- 
lets which  M'e  have  already  quoted  ?  Not  more  than  four  years 
at  most  had  passed.  Was  there  no  zealot  of  the  triumphant 
Church  eager  to  denounce  the  criminals  to  the  ready  ears  of 
the  Government  ?  Did  no  friend  or  relative  of  either  of  the 
victims  thirst  for  vengeance  upon  "bloody  Lagg"?  How  is 
it  that  a  profound  silence  reigns  over  the  whole  matter  for 
more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ? 

The  difficulty  of  proving  a  negative  is  almost  proverbial. 
The  only  mode  in  which  it  can  be  done  is  by  the  denial  of 
persons  who  must  have  known  the  fact  if  true,  and  the  silence 
of  those  records  where,  in  the  ordinary  course  of  events,  it 
would  have  been  mentioned.  Here  both  these  kinds  of  proof 
concur.  Sir  George  Mackenzie,  who  must  have  known  the 
fact  if  it  ever  took  place,  expressly  denies  it.  That  indus- 
trious chronicler.  Sir  John  Lauder  of  Fountainhall,  who  cer- 
tainly would  not  have  been  restrained  by  any  friendly  feeling 
towards  the  CTOvernment,  makes  no  allusion  to  it.  The  re- 
cords of  the  burgh  of  Wigtown,  minute  enough  as  to  con- 
temporaneous matters,  and  in  which  the  expenses  of  the 
execution  must  have  appeared,  are  silent.-  One  of  the  sup- 
posed actors.  Colonel  Douglas,  is  shown  to  have  been  other- 
wise employed,  and  at  a  different  place,  on  the  very  day  (the 
1 1th  of  May.-^  Another,  Provost  Cultrain,  is  proved  to  have 
been  absent  from  Wigtown  from  the  middle  of  April  until  the 
latter  end  of  June  following. '»     We  have  a  minute  account  of 

'  M.ic,  iii.  278.         -  Cn.se  fortho  Crown.  \^.  ^  Ibi.l.,  m.         ^  IImcI,  ll.';. 


THE    WIGTOWN    MAKTYES.  261 

the  misdeeds  of  Sir  Robert  Griersoii  of  Lagg,  a  tliird  partici- 
pator in  the  atrocity,  how  he  slaughtered  six  meu  at  Lockerbie, 
and  five  at  Kiikconnel,  just  before,  and  a  couple  more  just 
after,  the  date  of  the  martyrdom,^  and  yet  no  notice  of  this 
far  more  remarkable  event ;  and  this  silence  is  with  regard  to 
an  act  supposed  to  have  been  done  not  on  a  lonely  hillside,  or 
on  a  desolate  moor,  but  in  the  presence  of  hundreds  of  sym- 
pathising spectators,  and  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of 
the  burgh  of  "Wigtown,  and  is  preserved  for  five-and-twenty 
years  at  a  time  when  the  party  to  which  the  victims  belonged 
had  just  achieved  a  triumph  over  their  oppressors,  when 
religious  zeal  and  political  animosity,  outraged  humanity  and 
personal  affection,  would  alike  have  cried  aloud  for  vengeance  ! 
And  what  have  we  to  set  against  this  evidence  ?  Simply  the 
assertion  of  two  anonymous  pamphleteers,  who  contradict 
each  other ! 

We  think  it  may  be  safely  left  to  any  impartial  mind  to 
say  to  which  side  the  balance  of  proof  inclines. 

But  it  may  be  fairly  asked,  how  then  did  the  story,  in  one 
form  or  other,  find  its  place  in  history  ?  With  regard  to  the 
pamphleteers,  we  reply  that  the  sentence  was  sufficient.  They 
either  assumed  or  fabricated  the  execution.  We  are  little  con- 
cerned with  the  evidence  of  witnesses  of  such  character.  We 
believe  Lord  Macaulay's  denunciation  of  the  pamphleteers  of 
the  time  of  the  Eevolution,  as  "  habitual  liars,"  to  be  perfectly 
correct,  and  equally  applicable  to  those  of  all  parties. 

But  having  disposed  of  the  evidence,  we  must  now  deal 
with  the  tradition,  and  to  do  this  we  must  pass  over  a  quarter 
of  a  century,  during  which  we  hear  nothing  whatever  either 
of  Margaret  M'Lachlan  or  Margaret  Wilson. 

In  the  year  1711  (twenty-six  years  after  the  supposed  event) 
the  General  Assembly  recommended  the  Presbyteries  to  cause 
an  exact  account  of  "  the  sufferings "  for  adherence  to  the 
covenanted  work  of  Reformation  in  opposition  to  the  late 
Erastiaii  prelacy  to  be  made  in  each  i)arish.  The  date  is 
material.  It  was  the  very  year  when  the  I'resbyterian  Church 
of  Scotland  was  roused  to  the  utmost  activity  by  the  pru^iosed 

1  Ibid.,  OS. 


202  VLNDICA'I'IONS, 

hill  lor  the  toleration  of  tin;  Episcopal  clergy.  The  old  spirit 
of  the  West  awoke,  mobs  assembled,  and  outrages  were  com- 
mitted upon  those  who  were  suspected  of  worshipping  their 
Creator  in  a  form  displeasing  to  the  disciples  of  Cameron  and 
Kenwick,  and  the  admirers  of  Hackston  of  Rathillet  and 
Kobert  Hamilton.^  Such  was  the  time  when  the  kirk-session 
of  Penninghame  assembled  to  obey  the  orders  of  tlie  General 
Assembly.  On  the  25th  of  February  1711  we  find  the  legend 
of  the  Wigtown  Martyrs  inscribed  in  the  minutes  of  the  kirk- 
session  almost  in  the  words  in  which  it  has  been  repeated  by 
Lord  I\Iacaulay  in  our  own  day.  It  was  one  note  of  the 
trumpet-call  which  summoned  the  trooper's  of  the  Covenant 
to  the  coming  fight.  Under  such  circumstances,  to  look  for 
historic  truth  would  be  absurd.  A  song  of  battle  was  wanted, 
and  there  were  plenty  of  bards  to  frame  a  stirring  lay.  The 
note  was  echoed  from  the  neighbouring  parish  of  Kirkinner, 
where,  oddly  enough,  no  mention  is  made  of  Margaret  Wilson, 
and  the  strain  is  repeated  in  a  wilder  and  more  vigorous  tone 
by  Patrick  Walker  the  Packman. 

The  minute  of  the  kirk-session  of  Penninghame,  which  is 
too  long  to  be  transcribed  here,  will  be  found,  in  extenso,  at  p. 
102  of  Mr  Napier's  '  Case  for  the  Crown.'  It  bears  all  the 
marks  of  a  fabrication.  The  false  coin  betrays  itself  by  re- 
taining too  sharp  an  impress  of  the  mould.  The  incidents  of 
the  stoiy  are  too  distinct  and  fresh  to  be  true.  The  skilful 
hand  of  the  modern  historian  has  effaced  these  marks  before 
issuing  his  version  to  the  world.  The  workmen  at  Abbeville 
who  impose  upon  antiquarians  with  sham  stone  hatchets, 
smear  them  with  dirt  before  they  offer  them  for  sale ;  the 
guides  at  Waterloo  bury  the  Birmingham  eagles  before  they 
attempt  to  palm  them  off  upon  the  traveller.  But  the  kirk- 
session  of  Penninghame  dealt  with  customers  who  were  willing 
to  "  ask  no  questions."  Wodrow  greedily  accepted  the  story, 
the  evidence  of  the  falsehood  of  which  he  had  iii  his  hands, 
and  guarded  liimself  with  the  cowardly  salvo  that  "  the  Jaco- 
bites" had  what  he  terms  the  "impudence"  to  deny  its  truth. 
This  admission,  which  Wodrow,  no  doubt,  inserts  to  protect 

*  Buitou's  History  of  Scotland,  clxiv. 


THE    WIGTOWN    MARTYRS.  263 

himself  against  the  detection  which  he  may  naturally  have 
apprehended,  has  become  important  as  evidence  of  the  fact 
that  the  truth  of  the  story  was  then  denied — a  most  important 
admission.  If  the  story  were  true  it  must  have  been  notorious 
— so  notorious  that  denial  would  have  been  impossible.  Yet 
both  Wodrow  and  Walker  guard  themselves  in  the  same 
manner.  The  reason  is  obvious  : — both  of  them  knew  that 
the  story  had  no  foundation  in  truth  ;  and  both  were  desirous 
to  secure  a  loophole  against  a  conviction  for  deliberate  false- 
hood. 

The  arguments  derived  from  the  inscription  in  "\Vigt(jwn 
Churchyard  hardly  deserve  even  a  passing  notice.  There  is 
not  a  particle  of  evidence  of  the  antiquity  of  the  stone.  The 
epitaph  is  just  as  likely  to  have  been  copied  from  the  '  Cloud 
of  Witnesses '  on  to  the  stone,  as  from  the  stone  into  the  book. 
Still  less  can  we  waste  time  in  answering  an  argument  based 
on  the  assumption  that,  if  Margaret  AVilson  was  not  drowned 
in  1685,  she  must  have  been  alive  in  1711,  and  must  have 
been  then  residing  at  Wigtown,  and  must  have  walked  over 
her  own  grave  and  read  her  own  epitaph.  Still  more  puerile 
is  the  attempt  to  answer  the  inference  drawn  from  the  silence 
of  Fountainhall  by  the  argument  (if  it  can  be  so  called)  that 
one  would  not  be  led  to  doubt  that  Palmer  was  hanged,  merely 
because  a  gentleman  residing  at  Edinburgh  had  not  noted  that 
iact  down  in  his  journal.  The  conclusion  at  which  we  arrive 
is,  that  Mr  Napier  has  made  out  his  case — that  he  has  sat- 
isfactorily established  that  there  is  no  reason  whatever  for 
believing  that  these  women  ever  were  drowned  at  all.  This 
conclusion  is  one  which  ought  to  be  satisfactory  to  everybody. 
We  will  not  commit  such  an  injustice  to  Principal  TuUucli  as 
to  suspect  that  his  zeal  can  so  far  cloud  his  Christianity  as  to 
prevent  him  from  sincerely  rejoicing  at  the  proof  that  a  great 
crime  was  not  committed. 


204 


IV. 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    LORD    BYRON.^ 


One;  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  songs  of  Beranger  is  that 
addressed  to  Ids  Lisette,  in  which  he  pictures  her  in  old  age 
narrating  to  a  younger  generation  the  loves  of  their  youtli, 
decking  liis  portrait  with  flowers  at  each  returning  spring,  and 
reciting  the  verses  tliat  liad  been  inspired  by  her  vanished 
charms : — 

"  Lorsque  les  yeiix  chercheront  sous  vos  rides 
liCS  traits  charmants  qui  m'auront  inspire, 
Des  doux  rdcits  les  jeunes  gens  avides 
Diront  :  Quel  fut  cet  ami  taut  pleurd  ? 
De  mon  amour  pcigncz,  s'il  est  possible, 
L'ardeur,  I'ivresse,  et  mfinie  les  soup^ons, 
Et  bonne  vieille,  au  coin  d'un  feu  paisible 
De  votre  ami  rdpdtez  les  chansons. 

On  vous  dira  :  Savait-il  fitrc  airaable  ? 
Et  sans  rougir  vous  direz  :  Je  I'aimais. 
D'un  trait  mediant  se  montra-t-il  capable  ? 
Avec  orgueil  vous  repondrez  :  Jamais  !  " 

This  charming  picture  has  been  realised  in  the  case  of  a 
poet  greater  than  Beranger,  and  by  a  mistress  more  famous 
than  Lisette.  The  Countess  Guiccioli  has  at  length  given  to 
the  world  her  '  Eecollections  of  Lord  Byron.'  The  book  first 
appeared  in  France  under  the  title  of  '  Lord  Byron  juge  par 
les  Teraoius  de  sa  Vie,'  without  the  name  of  the  Countess.  A 
more  unfortunate  designation  could  hardly  have  been  selected. 
The  "  witnesses  of  his  life  "  told  us  nothino;  but  what  had  been 
told  before  over  and  over  again ;  and  the  uniform  and  exag- 
gerated tone  of  eulogy  which  pervaded  the  whole  book  was 

'  Recollections  of  Lord  Byron  ;  with  those  of  the  Eyewitnesses  of  his  Life. 
By  the  Countess  Guiccioli.  R.  Beutley,  London.  (Blackwood's  Magazine, 
July  1869.) 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    LORD    BYRON.  265 

fatal  to  any  claim  on  the  part  of  the  writer  to  be  considered 
an  impartial  judge  of  the  wonderfully  mixed  character  of 
Byron.  When,  however,  the  book  is  regarded  as  the  avowed 
production  of  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  it  derives  value  and 
interest  from  its  very  faults.  There  is  something  inexpressibly 
touching  in  the  picture  of  the  old  lady  calling  up  the  phan- 
toms of  half  a  century  ago — not  faded  and  stricken  by  the 
hand  of  time,  but  brilliant  and  gorgeous  as  they  were  when 
Byron,  in  his  manly  prime  of  genius  and  beauty,  first  flashed 
upon  her  enraptured  sight,  and  she  gave  her  whole  soul  up  to 
an  absorbing  passion,  the  embers  of  which  still  glow  in  her 
heart. 

To  her  there  has  been  no  change,  no  decay.  The  god  whom 
she  worshipped  with  all  the  ardour  of  her  Italian  nature  at 
seventeen,  is  still  the  "  Pythian  of  the  age  "  to  her  at  seventy. 
To  try  such  a  book  by  the  ordinary  canons  of  criticism  would 
be  as  absurd  as  to  arraign  the  authoress  before  a  jury  of  British 
matrons,  or  to  prefer  a  bill  of  indictment  against  the  Sultan 
for  bigamy  to  a  Middlesex  grand  jury. 

The  Countess  Guiccioli  was  the  daughter  of  an  impoverished 
noble.  At  the  age  of  sixteen  she  was  taken  from  a  convent 
and  sold  as  third  wife  to  the  Count  Guiccioli,  who  was  old, 
rich,  and  profligate.  A  fouler  prostitution  never  profaned  the 
name  of  marriage.  A  short  time  afterwards  she  accidentally 
met  Lord  Byron.  Outraged  and  rebellious  nature  vindicated 
itself  in  the  deep  and  devoted  passion  with  which  he  inspired 
her.  With  the  full  assent  of  husband,  father,  and  brother, 
and  in  compliance  with  the  usages  of  Italian  society,  he  was 
shortly  afterwards  installed  in  the  ofhce,  and  invested  with 
all  the  privileges  of  her  cavalier  servente. 

This  arrangement,  with  some  interruptions  —  occasioned 
partly  by  the  attempts  of  the  husband  to  make  money  of  his 
disgrace,  and  partly  by  the  impetuous  attachment  of  the  lady, 
which  revolted  against  the  restraints  imposed  by  Italian  eti- 
quette— continued  until  Lord  Byron's  departure  for  Greece, 
whither  he  went,  accompanied  by  the  brother  of  the  Count- 
ess, the  younger  Count  Gamba,  in  the  month  of  July  1823. 

Probably  the  first  chapter  of  the  book  to  which  the  majority 


2GG  VINDICATIONS. 

of  reiidei-s  will  tma  is  lliiit  wliich  trciits  of  "  Lord  liyroii's  iii.'ir- 
r'w^v  iiiid  its  consequences."  They  will  be  disappointed  in  the 
expectation  of  finding  any  new  light  thrown  on  that  mysteri- 
ous subject.  Anecdotes  from  IMedwin,  reilections  not  veiy 
profound  from  Moore,  and  one  of  the  most  eloquent,  just,  and 
manly  passages  that  ever  fell  from  the  pen  of  ^Macaulay,  con- 
stitute all  that  will  reward  their  cuiiosity.  No  clue  whatever 
is  afforded  by  which  to  unravel  tlie  mystery  in  whicli  the 
separation  is  yet  shrouded ;  and  we  see  no  reason  why  it  may 
not  remain  for  ever  one  of  those  enigmas  which  perpetually 
arouse  the  curiosity  of  generation  after  generation  only  to  dis-' 
appoint  it. 

We  have  no  taste  for  the  inquiries  which  take  place  before 
Lord  Penzance,  still  less  for  prying  into  those  unhappy  matri- 
monial diflferences  which  never  reach  the  tribunal  over  which 
he  presides.  It  is  told  of  a  late  learned  judge  that,  when 
asked  by  his  clerk  if  he  had  any  objection  to  his  mairying,  he 
replied,  "  Objection  ?  I  have  no  objection  ;  only,  if  you  marry, 
when  you  repent — as  you  probably  will, — and  hang  yourself — 
as  you  possibly  may, — do  not  hang  yourself  in  my  chambers,  as 
your  predecessor  did." 

In  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  thousand, 
people  may  marry,  quarrel,  part,  meet  again,  and  hang  them- 
selves or  not  as  they  please,  and  the  world  at  large,  in  whose 
chambers  they  do  not  perform  the  last  melancholy  act,  not  care 
one  jot  about  the  matter. 

But  Lord  Byron's  was  an  exceptional  case.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that,  had  his  marriage  been  a  happy  one,  the 
course  of  events  of  the  present  century  might  have  been  ma- 
terially changed ;  that  the  genius  which  poured  itself  forth  in 
'  Don  Juan '  and  '  Cain '  might  have  flowed  in  far  different 
channels ;  that  the  ardent  love  of  freedom  which  sent  him 
to  perish  at  six-and-thirty  at  Missolonghi  might  have  inspired 
a  long  career  at  home ;  and  that  we  might  at  this  moment 
have  been  appealing  to  the  counsels  of  liis  experience  and 
wisdom  at  an  age  not  exceeding  that  which  was  attained  by 
AVcllington,  Lyndhurst,  and  Brougham. 

Whether  the  wmld  would  have  been  a  gainer  or  a  loser  by  the 


RECOLLECTrONS    OF    LOKD    BYKON.  26*7 

exchange,  is  a  question  which  every  man  must  answer  for  him- 
self, according  to  his  own  tastes  and  opinions ;  hut  tlie  possi- 
bility of  such  a  change  in  the  course  of  events  warrants  us  in 
treating  what  would  otherwise  be  a  strictly  private  matter  as 
one  of  public  interest. 

More  than  half  a  century  has  elapsed,  the  actors  have  de- 
parted from  the  stage,  tlie  curtain  has  fallen,  and  whether  it 
will  ever  again  be  raised  so  as  to  reveal  the  real  facts  of  the 
drama  may,  as  we  have  already  observed,  be  well  doubted. 
But  the  time  has  arrived  when  we  may  fairly  gather  up  the 
fragments  of  evidence,  clear  them  as  far  as  possible  from  the 
incrustations  of  passion,  prc^judice,  and  malice,  and  place  them 
in  such  order  as,  if  possible,  to  enable  us  to  arrive  at  some 
probable  conjecture  as  to  what  the  skeleton  of  tlie  drama  ori- 
ginally was.  We  need  not  follow  those  who  have  discussed 
the  unnecessary  question,  why  Lord  Byron  married  Miss  ]\Iil- 
banke  ;  or  the  equally  useless  one,  why  Miss  IMilbanke  married 
Lord  Byron.  There  were  abundant  motives  for  the  marriage 
on  both  sides  ;  and  had  it  not  turned  out  unhappily  (as  the 
most  promising  marriages  sometimes  will),  it  would  have  ap- 
peared to  everybody  the  most  natural,  reasonable,  and  proper 
union  in  the  world — with  rank,  youth,  beauty,  and  fame 
enough  to  fill  the  head  of  the  most  romantic  school-girl,  and 
just  sufficient  worldly  prudence  to  satisfy  older  heads  and 
colder  hearts. 

The  marriage  was  solemnised  on  the  2d  January  1815  ;  and 
the  "happy  pair,"  as  the  newspapers  have  it,  went  first  to 
Halnaby,  a  house  belonging  to  Sir  lialph  Milbanke,  from 
whence  Lord  Byron  wrote  to  Moore,  announcing  his  mar- 
riage : — 

"Halnauy,  Jan.  10,  1815. 

"  I  was  married  this  day  week.  The  parson  has  pronounced 
it — Perry  has  announced  it — and  the  'Morning  Post'  also, 
under  the  head  of  'Lord  P>yron's  maiTiage' — as  if  it  were  a 
fabrication  or  the  puff-direct  of  a  new  staymaker  !     .     .     . 

"  P.aV. — Lady  liyron  is  vastly  well.  How  are  ^Irs  Moore  and 
Joe  Atkinson's  'Graces'?  We  must  i)ie.senl  our  women  to 
one  another." 


208  VINDICATIONS, 

A  lew  tlays  ;ini!r,  Lord  iiinl  Lady  IJyron  moved  to  Kiikby,  in 
Leicestershire,  IVuiii  which  pUice  he  aj,'aiii  wrote : — 

"Jan.  19,  1815. 

"  So  you  want  to  know  ahout  luihxdy  and  me  ?  I>ut  let  me 
not,  as  Roderick  iJandom  says, 'prolane  tlie  cliaste  mysteries 
of  Hymen  ; '  d — n  the  word  !  I  had  nearly  spelt  it  with  a  small 
h.  I  like  Bell  as  well  as  you  do  (or  did,  you  villain)  Bessy, 
and  that  is  (or  was)  saying  a  great  deal. 

"  Address  your  next  to  Seaham,  Stockton-on-Tees,  where  we 
are  going  on  Saturday  (a  bore,  by  the  way)  to  see  father-in-law 
Sir  Jacob,  and  my  lady's  lady  mother." 

To  Seaham,  accordingly,  Lord  and  Lady  Byron  went,  and 
from  thence,  on  the  2d  February,  he  again  wrote  to  Moore : — 

"  Since  I  wrote  last  I  have  been  transferred  to' my  father-in- 
law's,  with  my  lady  and  my  lady's  maid,  &c.  &c.  &c.,  and  the 
treacle-moon  is  over,  and  I  am  awake  and  find  myself  married. 
My  spouse  and  I  agree  to — and  in — admiration.  Swift  says 
'  no  ivisc  man  ever  married,'  but  for  a  fool  I  think  it  is  the 
most  ambrosial  of  all  future  states.  I  still  think  one  ought  to 
marry  upon  lease ;  but  am  very  sure  I  should  renew  mine  at 
the  expiration,  though  next  term  was  for  ninety-aud-nine 
years." 

lie  adds,  in  a  letter  written  a  day  or  two  after :  "  Bell  de- 
sires me  to  say  all  kinds  of  civilities,  and  assure  you  of  her 
recognition  and  high  consideration.  I  will  tell  you  of  our 
movements  south,  which  may  be  in  about  three  weeks  from 
this  present  ■writing." 

Accordingly,  on  the  8tli  of  March  he  says  : — 

"  We  leave  this  place  to-morrow,  and  shall  stop  on  our  way 
to  town  (in  the  interval  of  taking  a  house  there)  at  Col. 
Leigh's,^  near  Newmarket,  where  any  epistle  of  yours  will  find 
its  welcome  way. 

^  The  Imsbaml  of  his  half-sister. 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    LORD    BYRON.  269 

"  I  have  been  very  comfortable  here,  listening  to  that  d — d 
monologue  which  elderly  gentlemen  call  conversation,  and  in 
which  my  pious  father-in-law  repeats  himself  every  evening 
save  one,  when  he  played  upon  the  fiddle.  However,  they 
have  been  very  kind  and  hospitable,  and  I  like  them  and  the 
place  vastly,  and  hope  they  will  live  many  happy  months. 
Bell  is  in  health,  and  unvaried  good-humour  and  behaviour. 
But  we  are  in  the  agonies  of  packing  and  parting,  and  I  sup- 
pose by  this  time  to-morrow  I  shall  be  stuck  in  the  cliariot, 
with  my  chin  upon  a  bandbox.  I  have  prepared,  however, 
another  carriage  for  the  abigail  and  all  the  trumpery  M'hich 
our  wives  drag  along  witli  them." 

On  the  17th  March  he  writes,  apparently  from  Colonel 
Leigh's,  in  reply  to  some  inquiries  which  jNIoore,  as  an  old  and 
intimate  friend,  had  felt  himself  entitled  to  make  as  to  the 
probability  of  an  heir  to  the  Byron  honours : — 

"  To  your  question  I  can  only  answer  that  there  have  been 
some  symptoms  which  look  a  little  gestatory.  It  is  a  subject 
upon  which  I  am  not  particularly  anxious,  except  that  I  think 
it  would  please  her  uncle  (Lord  Weutworth)  and  her  father 
and  mother.  The  former  (Lord  W.)  is  now  in  town,  and  in 
very  indifferent  health.  You  perhaps  know  that  his  property, 
amounting  to  seven  or  eight  thousand  a-year,  will  eventually 
devolve  upon  Bell.  But  the  old  gentleman  has  been  so  very 
kind  to  her  and  me  that  I  hardly  know  how  to  wish  him  in 
heaven,  if  he  can  be  comfortable  on  earth.  Her  father  is  still 
in  the  country. 

"We  mean  to  metropolise  to-morrow,  and  you  will  aildrcss 
your  next  to  Piccadilly." 

A  few  weeks  after  this  letter  was  written  Lcud  Wcntworth 
died,  and  by  his  will  the  greater  \y.\yt  of  his  property  was  en- 
tailed on  Lady  IMilbanke  and  Lady  liyron;  and  in  June  Lend 
Byron  again  writes  : — 

"  Lady  B.  is  better  than  Iln'e(>  months  advanced  in  her  ]iro- 


270  VINDICATIONS. 

press  towards  matcinity,  find  we  hope  likely  to  go  well  throu^di 
witli  it.  We  have  been  very  little  out  this  season,  as  I  wish 
to  keep  her  quiet  in  her  present  situation.  Her  father  and 
muther  have  changed  their  names  to  Noel,  in  compliance  witli 
Lord  Wentworth's  will,  and  in  complaisance  to  the  property 
bequeathed  by  him." 

As  time  passes  on  he  speaks  of  a  plan  that  Lady  Byron 
should  go  to  Scaham  for  her  confinement ;  but  this  projected 
journey  was  abandoned,  and  on  the  28th  of  October  he  writes: 
"  All  the  world  are  out  of  it"  (London)  "except  us,  who  re- 
main to  lie  in — in  December,  or  perhaps  earlier.  Lady  B.  is 
very  ponderous  and  prosperous  apparently,  and  I  wish  it  well 
over." 

The  event  took  place  at  the  time  anticipated,  and  on  the 
r)th  of  January  Lord  Byron  writes  as  follows :  "  The  little 
girl  was  born  on  the  10th  of  December  last ;  her  name  is 
Augusta  Ada  (the  second  a  very  antique  family  name — I 
believe  not  used  since  the  reign  of  King  John).  She  was,  and 
is,  very  nourishing  and  fat,  and  reckoned  very  large  for  her 
days — squalls  and  sucks  incessantly,  Ai-e  you  answered? 
Her  mother  is  doing  very  well,  and  up  again." 

At  the  time  that  Lord  Byron  was  writing  this  letter  there 
was  an  execution  in  the  house.  As  soon  as  her  health  was 
sufficiently  re-established  to  enable  her  to  travel,  Lady  Byron 
left  London  for  Kirkby,  in  Leicestershire,  then  the  residence 
of  Sir  Ealph  and  Lady  Noel.  Either  on  her  journey,  or 
immediately  after  her  arrival  at  Kirkby,  Lady  Byron  wrote  to 
her  husband  a  letter,  which  is  described  by  ^loore  as  "  full  of 
playfulness  and  affection  ; "  by  Leigh  Hunt  as  "  written  in  a 
spirit  of  good-humour,  and  even  fondness,  which,  though  con- 
taining nothing  but  what  a  wife  ought  to  write,  and  is  the  better 
for  writing,  was,  I  thought,  almost  too  good  to  show;"^  and 

^  Leigh  Hunt,  i.  8.  He  says  it  was  signed  with  a  playful  name  (Pippin 
Face),  by  wliich  Lady  Byron  was  in  the  habit  of  calling  herself.  Captain 
Medwin  adds  that  it  began  "Dear  Duck,"  and  that  Shelley  used  to  amuse 
himself  by  translating  the  appellation  into  Italian,  "Anitra  Carissinia." — 
Medwin,  p.  41. 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF   LORD    PA'RON.  271 

by  Lady  Byron  herself  as  written  in  a  "  kind  and  cheerful 
tone."  This  letter  was  accompanied  or  immediately  followed 
by  one  from  Lady  Noel,  "inviting  him  to  Kirkby  Mallory  ;"^ 
and  the  next  communication  received  by  Lord  Byron  was  a 
letter  from  his  father-in-law,  Sir  Ralph  Noel,  commencing 
"  My  lord,"  and  announcing  to  him  that  his  wife  had  left  him 
for  ever. 

Here  we  pause.  Up  to  this  point  there  can  be  no  di.=ipute 
as  to  facts,  beyond  it  we  have  to  feel  our  way  tli rough  a 
labyrinth  of  inconsistencies  and  contradictions. 

Owing  to  the  fortunate  accident  of  Moore's  absence,  and  to 
Lord  Byron's  singular  frankness,  we  have  a  picture  of  his  first 
and  only  year  of  married  life,  far  more  vivid  and  more  trust- 
worthy than  any  we  could  have  possessed  by  other  means. 
It  may  be  left  to  speak  for  itself.  His  letters  are  the  spon- 
taneous reflection  of  his  feelings.  There  was  no  cloud  in  the 
sky  indicating  the  storm  that  was  about  to  burst  on  his  head. 
There  miglit  be  ebullitions  of  temper  and  hasty  vrords  amply 
sufficient  to  account  for  tlie  generous  admission  of  error, 
which  was  afterwards  so  cruelly  tortured  into  a  confession  of 
guilt ;  and  who  can  say  truly  that  such  has  not  been  his  own 
experience  ?  But  with  these  letters  before  us,  we  say  confi- 
dently that  it  is  impossible  that,  during  the  period  from  their 
marriage  up  to  Lady  Byron's  departure  from  London  on  tlie 
15th  January  1816,  anything  could  have  occurred  to  afford 
reasonable  cause  to  prevent  her  return. 

As  soon  as  it  became  known  that  a  separation  liad  taken 
place  between  Lord  and  Lady  Byron,  the  British  public,  in 
profound  ignorance  of  all  the  circumstances,  was  seized  with 
a  hot  fit  of  that  moral  ague  under  which  John  Bull  becomes 
the  maddest  and  most  absiird  of  beasts.  Not  a  crime  pro- 
liil)ited  in  the  Decalogue,  not  an  abomination  recorded  in  Holy 
Writ  or  heathen  mythology,  but  some  one  was  found  to  assert, 
and  some  one  else  to  believe,  that  Lord  I'yron  had  committed, 
nay,  was  in  the  constant  habit  of  committing  it.  Even  tlie 
purest  and  tenderest  affections  of  nature  were  turned  to  poison, 
into  which  the  shafts  of  slander  were  dipped,  and  all  this  for 

'  Lady  Bj'ron's  Rtatcinont  ;  Moore's  Life  of  l^ymn,  AiiiKiulix  IL 


272  VINDICATIONS. 

no  otlicr  vcason  tliaii  thai  his  wife  did  not  choose  to  live  with 
him,  and  would  not  say  why.  It  was  of  no  avail  tliat  a  small 
hand  of  faithful  and  tried  friends  stood  hy  liiin,  that  women 
(two  or  three,  to  their  honour  he  it  spoken)  had  the  courage  to 
face  the  storm  of  obloquy  which  awaited  all  those  who  did  not 
join  in  the  howl  of  execration. 

"  The  herilcil  wolves,  bold  only  to  pursue  ; 
The  obscene  ravens,  clamorous  o'er  the  dead  ; 
The  vultures  to  the  contjueror's  banner  true. 
Who  feed  where  desolation  first  has  fed. 
And  whose  wings  rain  contagion " 

All  tliat  was  base,  mean,  envious,  and  revengeful,  was  banded 
together;  and  in  April  181G — one  year  and  three  months  after 
his  marriage — Lord  Byron  was  hunted  out  of  England,  never 
again  to  set  his  foot  on  her  soil.  Lord  jNIacaulay  has  drawn  a 
vivid  picture  of  this  outburst  of  idiotic  frenzy  : — 

"  The  case  of  Lord  Byron  was  harder.  True  Jedwood  justice 
was  dealt  out  to  him.  First  came  the  execution,  then  the  in- 
vestigation, and  last  of  all,  or  rather  not  at  all,  the  accusation. 
The  public,  without  knowing  anything  whatever  about  the 
transactions  in  his  family,  flew  into  a  violent  passion  with 
him,  and  proceeded  to  invent  stories  which  might  justify  its 
anger.  Ten  or  twenty  different  accounts  of  the  separation, 
inconsistent  with  each  other,  with  themselves,  and  with  com- 
mon-sense, circulated  at  the  same  time.  What  evidence  there 
might  be  for  any  one  of  these,  the  virtuous  people  who 
repeated  them  neither  knew  nor  cared.  For,  in  fact,  these 
stories  were  not  the  causes  but  the  effects  of  public  indigna- 
tion. They  resembled  those  loathsome  slanders  which  Lewis, 
Goldsmith,  and  other  abject  libellers  of  the  same  class,  were  in 
the  habit  of  publishing  about  Bonaparte ;  such  as,  that  he 
poisoned  a  girl  with  arsenic  when  he  was  at  the  military 
school — that  he  hired  a  grenadier  to  shoot  Dessaix  at  Marengo 
— that  he  filled  St  Cloud  with  all  the  pollutions  of  Caprete. 
There  was  a  time  wdien  anecdotes  like  these  obtained  some 
credence  from  persons  who,  hating  the  French  Emperor  with- 
out knowing  why,  were  eager  to  believe  anything  that  might 
justify  their  hatred.     Lord  Byron  fared  in  the  same  way.    His 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF   LORD   BYRON.  273 

countrymen  were  in  a  bad  humour  with  him  ;  his  writings  and 
his  character  had  lost  the  charm  of  novelty ;  he  had  been 
guilty  of  the  offence  which,  of  all  offences,  is  punished  most 
severely ;  he  had  been  overpraised ;  he  had  excited  too 
warm  an  interest ;  and  the  public,  with  its  usual  justice, 
chastised  him  for  its  own  folly.  .  .  .  The  obloquy 
which  Byron  had  to  endure  was  such  as  might  have  shaken 
a  more  constant  mind.  The  newspapers  were  filled  with 
lampoons.  The  theatres  shook  with  execrations.  He  was 
excluded  from  circles  where  he  had  been  the  observed  of 
all  observers.  All  those  creeping  things  that  riot  on  the  decay 
of  noble  natures  hastened  to  their  repast ;  and  they  were  right: 
they  did  after  their  kind.  It  is  not  every  day  that  the  savage 
envy  of  aspiring  dunces  is  gratified  by  the  agonies  of  such  a 
spirit  and  the  degradation  of  such  a  name."  ^ 

Whilst  all  this  was  going  on,  Lady  Byron  maintained  an 
absolute  and  rigid  silence.  She,  at  any  rate,  must  have  known 
the  utter  falsehood  of  at  least  ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  of 
the  slanders  that  were  circulated  against  the  husband  she  had 
sworn  to  love,  and  the  father  of  the  child  that  was  hanging  at 
her  breast ;  yet  no  word  escaped  her — thus,  by  her  silence, 
giving  sanction  and  authority  to  the  vilest  of  these  vile  fabri- 
cations. 

Lord  Byron  erred  almost  equally  in  the  opposite  direction. 
He  was  generous  to  excess,  and  his  generosity  was  turned 
against  him.  On  the  8th  of  INIarch  he  wrote  to  Moore  :  "  I 
must  set  you  right  on  one  point,  however.  The  fault  was  not 
— no,  nor  even  the  misfortune — in  my  '  choice '  (unless  in 
choosinfj  at  all)  ;  for  I  do  not  believe — and  I  must  say  it  in 
the  very  dregs  of  this  bitter  business — that  there  ever  was  a 
better,  or  even  a  brighter,  a  kinder,  or  a  more  amiable  and  agree- 
able being  than  Lady  Byron.  I  never  had  nor  can  have  any 
reproach  to  make  her,  while  with  me.  Where  there  is  blame,  it 
belongs  to  myself;  and  if  I  cannot  redeem  it,  I  must  bear  it." 
On  the  25th  of  the  same  month  he  wrote  t(i  Uogers  :  "  You 
are  one  of  the  few  persons  witli  whom  I  liavc  livi'd  in  what  is 
called  intimacy,  and  have  heard  me  at  times  conversing  on  the 
'  Lord  JNIacaulay's  Essays  ;  Moore's  Life  of  Byron,  1831. 
S 


274  VINDICATIONS. 

uiilowunl  toi)i{;  of  my  recent  family  disquietudes.  Will  you 
have  the  goodness  to  say  to  me  at  once,  whether  you  ever 
heard  me  speak  of  her  with  disrespect,  with  unkindncss,  or 
defending  myself  at  licr  expense  by  any  serious  imputation 
of  any  description  against  her  ?  Did  you  never  hear  me  say 
that  where  there  was  a  right  or  a  wrong,  she  had  the  rifjht  ? 
The  reason  I  put  these  questions  to  you  or  others  of  my  friends 
is,  because  I  am  said  by  her  and  hers  to  have  resorted  to  such 
means  of  exculpation."  ^ 

To  what  extent  Lord  liyron  was  justified  in  attributing  Lady 
Byron's  conduct  to  the  influence  exercised  over  her  by  her 
mother,  Lady  Noel,  we  shall  probably  never  know.  It  is  clear 
that  he  readily  adopted  any  hj^^othesis  that  would  exonerate 
Lady  Byron  from  blame,  and  it  is  by  no  means  improbable 
that  he  cast  on  the  mother  (between  whom  and  himself  there 
was  a  natural  antipathy)  the  responsibility  of  acts  for  which 
the  daughter  was  really  answerable. 

Lord  Macaulay  said  tnily  that  the  accusation  never  came  at 
all.  Not  only  did  the  public  condemn  Lord  Byron  without 
knowing  with  what  offence  he  was  charged,  but  his  nearest 
friends  were  as  equally  in  the  dark ;  and  even  he  himself  went 
to  his  grave  in  total  ignorance  why  he  had  been  sent  into  the 
wilderness  with  all  the  iniquities,  transgressions,  and  sins  of 
the  children  of  Israel  on  liis  head. 

Lady  Blessington  says :  "  In  all  his  conversations  relative 
to  Lady  Byron,  and  they  are  frequent,  he  declares  that  he  is 
totally  unconscious  of  the  cause  of  her  leaving  him,  but  sus- 
pects that  the  ill-natured  interposition  of  iMrs  Cbarlmout  led 
to  it."  2 

To  Murray  he  wrote,  "  No  one  can  more  desire  a  public  in- 
vestigation of  that  affair  than  I  do."  ^ 

Nor  was  the  challenge  for  investigation  confined  to  per- 
sonal conversation  and  correspondence.  In  August  1819  an 
article  appeared  •*  (erroneously  attributed  to  Professor  TVilsou) 
containing  some  passages   to   which  Lord  Byron   replied  in 

*  Lord  Macaulay's  Essays  ;  Moore's  Life  of  Byron,  1831. 

»  Lady  Blessington,  22.  »  Life.  431. 

■•  "  Reniiuks  on  Don  .Tuan,"  Blackwood's  Magazine,  v.  512. 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF    LORD   BYRON.  275 

n.  pamphlet  which  was  sent  to  iSIinray  lor  publication  aud 
put  to  press,  though  it  did  not  appear  until  some  time 
afterwards.  In  reference  to  a  passage  relating  to  his  sepa- 
ration from  Lady  Byron,  lie  says :  "  Wlien  I  am  told  that  I 
cannot  '  in  any  way  justify  my  own  behaviour  in  that  affair,' 
I  acquiesce,  because  no  man  can  'justify'  himself  until  he 
knows  of  what  he  is  accused  ;  and  I  never  have  had — and 
(Jod  knows  my  whole  desire  has  ever  been  to  obtain  it — any 
specific  charge,  in  a  tangible  shape,  subndtted  to  me  by  the 
adversary,  or  by  others,  unless  the  atrocities  of  public  nmiour 
and  the  mysterious  silence  of  the  lady's  legal  advisers  may  be 
deemed  such." 

Again  he  says  :  "  Of  me  or  of  mine  they  [the  public]  knew 
little,  except  that  1  had  written  what  is  called  poetry,  was 
a  nobleman,  had  married,  become  a  father,  and  was  involved 
in  differences  with  my  wife  and  her  relations — no  one  knew 
why,  because  the  persons  complaining  refused  to  state  their 
grievances.  ...  I  shall  say  nothing  of  the  usual  complaints 
of  being  '  prejudged,'  'condemned  unheard,'  '  unfairness,'  'par- 
tiality,' and  so  forth,  the  usual  changes  rung  by  parties  who 
have  had  or  are  to  have  a  trial ;  but  I  was  a  little  surprised 
to  find  myself  condemned  without  being  favoured  with  the 
act  of  accusation — aud  to  perceive,  in  the  absence  of  this  por- 
tentous charge  or  charges,  whatever  it  or  they  were  to  be,  that 
every  possible  or  impossible  crime  was  rumoured  to  supply  its 
place,  and  taken  for  granted." 

This  cruel  silence  was  persevered  in  until  Byron  was  in  liis 

grave. 

"  Treason  had  done  its  worst — nor  steel  nor  i)oisoii, 
Malice  domestic,  foreif^n  levy,  notliiii;^ 
CouM  touch  him  furtlier." 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  was  it  broken.  On  the  appear- 
ance of  Moore's  '  Life  of  Lord  Byron,'  Lady  Byron  printed  and 
circulated  a  pamphlet  entitled  '  liemarks  occasioned  by  Mr 
Moore's  Notices  of  Lord  Byron's  Life,'  dated  lOtli  Feb.  1830. 
In  the  April  following,  tliese  Bemarks,  accompanied  by  a  com- 
mentary, which,  we  regret  to  say,  has  the  signature  of  Thomas 
Campbell,  appeared  in  the  'New  Monllily  Mai^azinc'     0(  tlic 


270  VINDICATIONS. 

comincntary  it  is  painrul  to  speak.  'J'he  most  merciful  coii- 
clu.siou  is,  that  it  was  written  uikU'i-  the  influence  of  stimulants, 
which  for  the  time  had  deprived  the  illustrious  author  of 
"  llohenliudeu  "  alike  of  ju(l<,fment  and  taste.' 

The  liemarks  we  shall  examine  with  more  care,  as  they 
afford  the  only  authentic  utterance  that  has  jiroceeded  from 
the  pen  or  lips  of  Lady  ]jyron. 

"  The  facts  "  stated  by  Lady  Byron  are  : — 

1st,  That  on  the  Gth  January  Lord  IJyron  sij^niified  his  abso- 
lute desire  that  she  should  leave  London  on  the  earliest  day 
that  she  could  conveniently  fix. 

2d,  That  previously  to  her  departure  it  had  been  impressed 
on  her  mind,  by  communications  made  "  by  his  nearest  rela- 
tives and  personal  attendant,"  that  Lord  Byron  was  under 
"  the  iniluence  of  insanity,"  and  "  was  in  danger  of  destroying 
himself." 

3d,  That  on  the  8th  January,  "  with  the  concurrence  of  his 
family,"  she  consulted  Dr  Baillie  respecting  this  supposed 
malady. 

4th,  That  Dr  Baillie  never  saw  Lord  Byron,  and  did  not 
pronounce  a  positive  opinion. 

5th,  That  on  the  day  of  her  departure  from  London,  on 
the  15th  January,  and  again  on  her  arrival  at  Kirk  by  on 
the  IGth,  she  wrote  to  Lord  Byron  "in  a  kind  and  cheerful 
tone." 

Gth,  That  up  to  the  time  of  her  arrival  at  Kirkby  her  parents 
were  "  unacquainted  with  the  existence  of  any  causes  likely 
to  destroy  her  prospects  of  happiness." 

7th,  That  on  the  17th  Lady  Noel  "  wrote  to  Lord  Byron, 
inviting  him  to  Kirkby,"  and  that  both  Lady  Noel  and  Sir 
lialph  "  assured  those  relations  who  were  with  him  in  London  " 
that  "  they  would  devote  their  whole  care  and  attention  to  the 
alleviation  of  his  malady." 

Before  proceeding  further  we  would  ask,  \Yho  were  the 

^  It  is  but  justice  to  state  that  the  writer  of  this  article  knows  that  Campbell 
disavowed  any  intention  to  convey  the  imputation  commonly  understood  to 
have  been  implied  by  his  observations,  and  expressed  surprise  tliat  such  a 
construction  should  have  been  put  upon  them. 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    LORD    BYRON.  277 

persons  here  alluded  to  as  the  "  nearest  relatives,"  who  made 
the  communications  from  which  Lady  Byron  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  her  husband  was  mad,  and  who  are  again 
alluded  to  as  "his  family,"  and  as  concurnny  in  her  consulting 
Dr Baillie ;  and  further  on,  as  "those  relations  who  were  with 
him  in  London,"  and  on  whom  Lady  Byron  throws  a  part  "  of 
the  responsibility  of  her  acts "  ?  The  only  person  who  can 
properly  be  held  to  come  within  the  designation  of  "  family  " 
was  his  half-sister,  Mrs  Leigh  ;  and  not  only  is  no  trace  to  be 
found  of  her  participation  in  these  proceedings,  but  her  subse- 
quent conduct  negatives  in  the  strongest  manner  the  sugges- 
tion that  she  could  be  any  party  to  them.  "  Relations"  might, 
no  doubt,  include  his  cousins — one  of  whom  succeeded  to  the 
title — but  we  have  not  been  able  to  trace  their  presence,  after 
a  careful  examination  of  the  correspondence  which  took  place 
at  the  time.     To  whom,  then,  does  Lady  Byron  allude  ? 

The  next  paragraph  we  shall  transcribe  in  the  ij^sissima 
verba  of  Lady  Byron : — 

"  The  accounts  given  me,  after  I  left  Lord  Byron,  hi/  the 
persons  in  constant  intercourse  with  him,  added  to  those  doubts 
which  had  before  transiently  occurred  to  my  mind  as  to  the 
reality  of  the  alleged  disease,  and  the  reports  of  his  medical 
attendant,  were  far  from  establishing  the  existence  of  any- 
thing like  lunacy.  Under  this  uncertainty  I  deemed  it  right 
to  communicate  to  my  parents,  that  if  I  were  to  consider 
Lord  Byron's  past  conduct  as  that  of  a  person  of  sound  mind, 
nothing  could  induce  me  to  return  to  him.  It  therefore 
appeared  expedient,  both  to  them  and  myself,  to  consult  the 
ablest  advisers.  For  that  object,  and  also  to  obtain  still 
further  information  respecting  the  appearances  which  seemed 
to  indicate  mental  derangement,  my  mother  determined  to  go 
to  liondon.  She  was  empowered  by  me  to  take  legal  opinion 
on  a  written  statement  of  mine,  though  I  had  then  reasons  for 
reserving  a  part  of  the  case  from  the  knowledge  even  of  my 
father  and  mother." 

"We  now  come  to  the  most  important  part  of  the  laMiiark.s. 
The  "  legal  opinion  "  alluded  to  was  tliat  of  Dr  Lusliington. 

"\Vc  have  been  so  long  accustomed  to  con.sider  the  name  of 


278  VINDICATIONS. 

the  sulu  survivor  of  tliiit  l)iilliiuit  array  ol'  iorenaic  talent 
wliicli  appeared  at  tlie  bar  of  tlie  House  of  Lords  when  a 
({ueen  of  EngUuid  stood  upon  her  trial,  as  the  representative 
of  all  that  is  venerable  in  the  administration  of  the  law,  that 
it  is  difficult  to  realise  the  fact,  that  in  the  year  181tj  l)r 
Lushington  was  simply  a  rising  advocate  of  about  five-and- 
thirty  years  of  age.  To  him  Lady  IJyron,  in  January  1 830, 
applied  for  a  statement  of  his  recollection  of  what  had  oc- 
curred in  1816,  just  fourteen  years  previously,  and  here  is  his 
reply  :— 

"  My  dear  Lady  Byron, — 1  can  rely  upon  the  accuracy 
of  my  memory  for  the  following  statement : — 

"  I  was  originally  consulted  by  Lady  Noel  on  your  behalf 
whilst  you  were  in  the  country.  The  circumstances  detailed 
by  her  were  such  as  justified  a  separation,  but  they  were 
not  of  that  aggravated  description  as  to  render  such  a 
measure  indispensable.  On  Lady  Noel's  representation,  I 
deemed  a  reconciliation  with  Lord  Byron  practicable,  and  felt, 
most  sincerely,  a  wish  to  aid  in  effecting  it.  There  was  not, 
on  Lady  Noel's  part,  any  exaggeration  of  the  facts,  nor,  so  far 
as  I  could  perceive,  any  determination  to  prevent  a  return  to 
Lord  Byron  :  certainly  none  was  expressed  when  I  spoke  of  a 
reconciliation.  When  you  came  to  town — in  about  a  fort- 
night, or  perhaps  more,  after  my  first  interview  with  Lady 
Noel — I  was  for  the  first  time  informed  by  you  of  facts 
utterly  unknown,  as  I  have  no  doubt,  to  Sir  Ralph  and  Lady 
Noel.  On  receiving  this  additional  information,  my  opinion 
was  entirely  changed ;  I  considered  a  reconciliation  impos- 
sible. I  declared  my  opinion,  and  added  that,  if  such  an  idea 
should  be  entertained,  I  could  not,  either  professionally  or 
otherwise,  take  any  part  towards  effecting  it. — Believe  me 
very  faithfully  yours,  Stephen  Lushington. 

Great  George  Street, 
"January  31,   1830." 

Let  us  now  look  back  and  see  what,  upon  Jwr  own  showing, 
was  the  conduct  of  Lady  Byron. 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    LORD    BYRON.  279 

She  lives  with  her  husband  for  more  thau  a  year  without 
communicating  to  her  own  parents,  or  to  any  one  else,  any 
cause  for  discomfort.  She  leaves  him  without  the  slightest 
indication  of  her  displeasure.  She  tries  to  prove  him  mad ; 
failing  that,  she  declares  her  determination  never  to  return  to 
him.  Through  her  mother  she  lays  before  Dr  Lushing^ton  a 
statement  of  her  case.  He  (no  doubt  very  wisely)  advises  a 
reconciliation  ;  failing  with  Dr  Lushington,  as  slie  had  with 
Dr  Baillie,  she  seeks  a  personal  interview,  and  then,  in  the 
secrecy  of  his  chambers,  under  the  seal  of  a  confidence  stricter 
thafa  that  of  the  confessional,  she  imparts  to  him  somdliing 
which  he  was  bound  to  assume  on  her  sole  assurance  to  be 
true — which  he  was,  without  investigation  or  inquiry,  to  accept 
as  the  basis  of  his  opinion — which  he  was,  under  no  circum- 
stances whatever,  without  her  express  authority  (an  authority 
which  death  has  now  put  it  out  of  her  power  to  give),  to 
divulge, — upon  which  she  obtains  his  opinion  that  are  concilia- 
tion was  impossible.  What  that  something  was  we  shall 
probably  never  know  ;  but,  save  in  the  case  of  the  victims  who 
were  sent  to  the  guillotine  on  suspicion  of  being  suspected,  we 
know  no  condemnation  so  monstrous,  so  revolting  to  every 
principle  of  justice  and  common-sense,  as  that  which  has 
been  passed  on  Lord  Byron. 

We  would  deal  tenderly  with  the  memory  of  Lady  Byron. 
Few  women  have  been  juster  objects  of  compassion.  It 
would  seem  as  if  nature  and  fortune  had  vied  with  each  other 
which  should  be  most  lavish  of  her  gifts,  and  yet  that  some 
malignant  power  had  rendered  all  their  bounty  of  no  etiect. 
Rank,  beauty,  wealth,  and  mental  powers  of  no  common  order 
were  hers,  yet  they  were  of  no  avail  to  secure  her  happiness. 
The  spoilt  child  of  seclusion,  restraint,  and  parental  idolatry 
— a  fate  alike  evil  for  both  —  cast  her  into  the  arms  of  the 
spoilt  cliild  of  genius,  passion,  and  the  world.  What  real  or 
fancied  Nvi'ongs  she  suffered  we  may  never  knr)w,  but  those 
which  she  inllicted  arc  sulliciently  apparent. 

It  is  said  that  there  are  some  poisons  so  subtle  that  they 
will  destroy  life  and  yet  leave  no  trace  of  their  action.  The 
murderer  who  uses  them  may  escape  the  vengeance  of  the 


280  VINDICATIONS. 

l;i\v,  hut  lu;  is  unl  the  h's.s  ^niilty.  So  tin;  shinderer  wiiu 
iiiiikos  no  charge — vvlio  duals  in  hints  and  insinuations — vrho 
knows  nicKanclioly  facts  lie  would  not  willingly  divulge,  things 
too  painful  to  state — who  forbears,  expresses  pity,  sometimes 
even  ullection,  for  his  victim,  shrugs  his  shoulders,  looks  with 

"  Tlic  significant  pye, 
Which  learns  to  lie  with  silence," — 

is  I'ar  more  guilty  than  he  who  tells  the  bold  falsehood  which 
may  be  met  and  answered,  and  who  braves  the  punishment 
which  must  follow  upon  detection. 
Lady  Byron  has  been  called 

"  The  moral  Clyteranestra  of  her  lonl." 

The  moral  "  Brinvilliers "  would  have  been  a  truer  designa- 
tion. 

We  have  always  regarded  the  destruction  of  Lord  Byron's 
Memoirs  as  a  crime,  committed,  as  crimes  often  are,  from 
honourable  motives.  We  fully  acquit  IMoore  of  the  charge 
which  was  brought  against  him  of  having  been  actuated  by 
pecuniaiy  considerations,  and  Lord  Broughton  was  a  man 
utterly  incapable  of  a  dishonourable  act.  Nevertheless,  we 
think  that  each  committed  a  most  lamentable  error.  With 
regard  to  the  Memoir  itself,  Lord  Byron,  writing  to  Murray  in 
December  1819,  says: — 

"  I  sent  home  by  Moore  {for  Moore  only,  who  has  my 
Journal)  my  Memoir,  written  up  to  1816,  and  I  gave  him 
leave  to  show  it  to  whom  he  pleased,  but  not  to  publish  on 
any  account.  You  may  read  it,  and  you  may  let  Wilson  read 
it  if  he  likes — not  for  his  public  opinion,  but  his  private,  for  I 
like  the  man,  and  care  very  little  about  his  ^Magazine.  And  / 
should  wish  Lady  Byron  herself  to  read  it,  that  she  may  have  it 
in  her  'power  to  mark  anything  mistaken  or  misstated,  as  it  wiU 
probably  appear  after  my  extinction,  and  it  would  be  but  fair 
that  she  should  see  it — that  is  to  say,  herself  willing."  ^ 

Tliis  offer  to  let  Professor  Wilson  read  his  Memoirs  was 
made,  be  it  observed,  at  the  very  time  Lord  Byron  was  smart- 
ing under  the  strictures  upon  '  Don  Juan '  before  referred 

1  Life,  431. 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF   LORD   BYRON.  281 

to,  which  he  erroneously  attributed  to  the  I'rofessor.  He 
offers  to  lay  his  "  Confessions,"  as  they  have  been  called, 
open  before  the  man  whom  he  believed  to  be  the  most  severe 
and  hostile  critic  of  his  life  and  morals.  If  still  stronger 
proof  were  wanted  of  his  good  faith,  it  is  to  be  found  in  the 
wish  he  expresses  that  the  ^lemoirs  should  be  shown  to  Lady 
Byron  herself.  This  offer  was  rejected  in  the  following  letter  : — 

.  "  KiuKBY  Mallouy,  March  10,  1820. 

"  I  received  your  letter  of  January  1,  offering  to  my  perusal 
a  Memoir  of  part  of  your  life.  I  decline  to  inspect  it.  1  con- 
sider the  publication  or  circulation  of  such  a  composition  at 
any  time  as  prejudicial  to  Ada's  future  happiness.  For  my  own 
sake,  I  have  no  reason  to  shrink  from  publication  ;  but  not- 
withstanding the  injuries  which  I  have  suffered,  I  should 
lament  some  of  the  consequences.  A.  Byron. 

"To  Lord  Byron." 

To  this  Lord  Byron  replied  : — 

"Ravenna,  April  ii,  1820. 

"  I  received  yesterday  your  answer  dated  INIarch  10.  My 
offer  was  an  honest  one,  and  surely  could  only  be  construed 
as  such,  even  by  the  most  malignant  casuistry.  I  could  an- 
swer you,  but  it  is  too  late,  and  it  is  not  worth  while.  To  the 
mysterious  menace  of  the  last  sentence,  whatever  its  import 
may  be — and  I  cannot  pretend  to  unriddle  it — I  could  hardly 
be  very  sensible  even  if  I  understood  it,  as,  before  it  can  take 
place,  I  shall  be  where  '  nothing  can  touch  him  further.'  .  .  . 
I  advise  you,  however,  to  anticipate  the  period  of  your  inten- 
tion, for  be  assured,  no  power  of  figures  can  avail  beyond  the 
j)resent ;  and  if  it  could,  I  would  answer  with  the  Florentine, — 

"  *  Ed  io,  clie  posto  son  con  loro  in  croce 

c  certo 
La  fiera  nioglic,  piii  cli'altro,  mi  nuocc' 

"  ]'>YKON. 
"  To  Lady  Byron."  ^ 

Lamentable  as  we  consider  the  destruction  of  the  Memoirs 
to  have  been,  we  regret  their  loss  more  as  having  destroyed 

'  Life  of  Moore,  iii.  115. 


282  VINDICATIONS. 

Ilic  ])ru(ir  of  what  \\n:y  iHil  not,  tluiii  Iroiii  anything  tliat  we 
think  it  probahltt  they  did,  contain. 

With  regard  to  the  question,  wlietlier  tliey  would  have 
thrown  any  light  upon  the  causes  of  the  separation,  we  think 
it  is  in  the  highest  degree  improbable  that  they  could  have 
done  so.  If  Lord  Byron  was  sincere  (as  we  believe  him  to 
have  been)  in  his  repeated  declaration  that  he  was  in  ignor- 
ance of  what  was  laid  to  his  charge,  it  is  manifest  that  they 
could  contain  no  such  information  ;  if  he  was  not,  it  can  hardly 
be  supposed  that  he  would  have  submitted  to  the  perusal  of 
any  one  to  whom  Moore  might  choose  to  show  the  manuscript, 
and  expressly  to  Professor  Wilson  and  to  Lady  Byron,  the 
conclusive  proof  of  his  own  duplicity. 

We  are  disposed,  therefore,  to  acquiesce  in  the  judgment 
pronounced  by  Lord  Bussell,  who,  after  detailing  the  circum- 
stances attending  its  destruction,  says :  "  As  to  the  manu- 
script itself,  having  read  the  greater  part,  if  not  the  whole,  I 
should  say  that  three  or  four  pages  of  it  were  too  gross  and 
indelicate  for  publication ;  that  the  rest,  with  few  exceptions, 
contained  little  traces  of  Lord  Byron's  genius,  and  no  interest- 
ing details  of  his  life.  His  early  youth  in  Greece,  and  his 
sensibility  to  the  scenes  around  him,  when  resting  on  a  rock 
in  the  swimming  excursions  he  took  from  the  Piraeus,  were 
strikingly  described.  But  on  the  whole,  the  world  is  no  loser 
by  the  sacrifice  made  of  the  IMemoirs  of  this  great  poet."  ' 

We  have  thus  laid  before  the  reader  everything  connected 
with  this  subject  that  deserves  the  name  of  evidence. 

The  conclusion  at  which  we  arrive  is,  that  there  is  no  proof 
whatever  that  Lord  Byron  was  guilty  of  any  act  that  need 
have  caused  a  separation  or  prevented  a  reunion,  and  that  the 
imputations  upon  him  rest  upon  the  vaguest  conjecture. 

That  whatever  real  or  fancied  wrongs  Lady  Byron  may  have 
endured  are  shrouded  in  an  impenetrable  mist  of  her  own 
creation — a  poisonous  miasma  in  which  she  enveloped  the 
character  of  her  husband — raised  by  her  breath,  and  which  her 
breath  only  could  have  dispersed. 

"  She  dies,  and  makes  no  sign — 0  God,  forgive  her  !  " 
*  Lord  Russell,  Life  of  Moore,  iv.  192. 


283 


V. 

LOUD    BYRON    AND    HIS    CALUMNIATORS.^ 

In  July  last  we  laid  before  our  readers  all  that  was  then 
publicly  known  with  regard  to  the  unhappy  circumstances 
which  led  to  the  separation  of  Lord  and  Lady  Byron,  and 
expressed  a  doubt  whether  the  cause  of  that  separation  might 
not  remain  for  ever  "  one  of  those  enigmas  which  perpetually 
arouse  the  curiosity  of  generation  after  generation,  only  to 
disappoint  it ; "  and  we  concluded  our  remarks  with  the 
observation,  "  that  whatever  real  or  fancied  wrongs  Lady  Dyron 
might  have  endured  were  shrouded  in  an  impenetrable  mist 
of  her  own  creation  —  a  poisonous  miasma  in  which  she 
had  enveloped  the  character  of  her  husband — raised  by  her 
breath,  and  which  her  breath  only  could  have  dispersed." 
That  mist  has  now  been  suddenly  and  completely  dispelled. 
For  three  months  every  newspaper  has  been  filled,  and  every 
household  in  the  kingdom  inundated,  with  discussions  on 
matters  which  one  portion,  at  any  rate,  of  our  families  never 
heard  or  read  of,  except  when  they  occurred  in  the  lesson 
for  the  day,  or  were  met  with  in  the  history  of  Lot  or  of 
Amnon. 

Mrs  Beecher  Stowe,  the  well-known  American  novelist,  has 
told  what  she  calls  the  "  True  Story  of  Lady  Byron's  Life  ; " 
and  we  may  as  well  say  in  the  outset,  that  we  see  no  reason 
to  doubt  either  that  Mrs  Stowe  received  this  -story  from  the 
lips  of  Lady  Ijyron,  or  that  she  believes  it  to  be  true.  Our 
reasons  for  this  will  appear  hereafter ;  and  as  we  may  have 
to  comment  somewhat  severely  on  Mrs  Stowe's  conduct  in  the 

'  Blackwood's  Ma;;azine,  Januiirv  1870. 


284  NIXDICATIONS. 

matter,  it  is  Imt,  just  tlial  wo  should  say  at  once  tliat  we  do 
not  accuse  lier  of  Uh;  iiii([uity  of  fabricating  tlie  revolting  tale 
which  she  has  published  to  the  world,  or  of  circulating  it, 
knowing  it  to  be  false. 

We  enter  upon  the  subject  with  reluctance ;  but  justice  to 
the  memory  of  Lord  Byron,  still  more  to  that  of  Mrs  I^igh, 
and  most  of  all  to  the  feelings  of  English  society,  which  have 
been  so  deeply  outraged,  force  the  unwelcome  task  upon  us. 
We  have  no  more  right  to  shrink  from  the  investigation  of 
Mrs  Stowe's  disgusting  story  than  a  surgeon  has  from  the 
examination  of  a  foul  disease. 

Stripped  of  the  flowery  verbiage  of  the  professional  novelist 
(which  is  peculiarly  out  of  place  in  bringing  a  charge  which 
if  made  at  all,  ought  to  be  couched  in  the  simplest  and  plain- 
est terms),  Mrs  Stowe's  "  Story,"  in  its  naked  hideousness,  is 
as  follows : — 

That  Lord  Byron,  upon  being  refused  by  Miss  IVIilbanke, 
"  fell  into  the  depths  of  a  secret  adulterous  intrigue  "  ('  Mac- 
niillan,'  ^  p.  385)  with  his  sister,  who  was  a  married  woman 
many  years  older  than  himself,  with  a  husband  and  several 
children.  That,  "  being  filled  with  remorse  and  anguish,  and 
an  insane  dread  of  detection  "  (p.  385),  he  renewed  his  pro- 
posals to  Miss  Milbanke,  and  married  her  with  the  expec- 
tation that  she  would  "  be  the  cloak  and  accomplice  of  this 
infamy "  (p.  387).  That  "  the  moment  the  carriage  -  doors 
were  shut  upon  the  bridegroom  and  bride"  (p.  386),  he  told 
her  she  had  "  married  a  dcinl "  (p.  386,  sic).  That  "  with  all  the 
sophistries  of  his  powerful  mind  "  (p.  387),  he  tried  to  per- 
suade her  that  there  was  no  harm  in  incest  ;  but  that  she, 
"  having  the  soul  not  only  of  an  angelic  woman,  but  of  a  strong 
reasoning  man  "  (p.  388),  refused  to  be  convinced. 

That  from  the  first  hour  of  her  married  life  until  the  day 
they  parted,^  Lady  Byron  was  "  struggling  in  a  series  of  pas- 
sionate convulsions  to  bring  her  husband  back  to  his  better 

1  No.  119,  September  1869. 

-  Mrs  Stowe  says  "two  j'ears."  As  Lord  ami  Lady  Byron  lived  togetlier 
only  one  year  and  thirteen  days,  the  "passionate  convulsions"  must  have 
extended  over  the  whole  period. 


LORD    BYRON    AND    HIS    CALUMNIATORS.  285 

self"  (p.  389).  That  during  the  wliole  of  this  time  Lord 
Byron  was,  with  the  knowledge  of  his  wile,  who  sliared  bed 
and  board  with  him,  carrying  on  an  incestuous  intercourse 
with  his  sister,  at  whose  house  tliey  visited,  and  who  was  a 
frequent  guest  at  theirs.  That  two  children  were  born — one 
the  legitimate  offspring  of  the  marriage,  tlie  otlier  tlie  spurious 
fruit  of  the  intrigue — over  botli  of  whom  Lady  Lyron  "watched 
with  a  mother's  tenderness  "  (p.  393). 

That  after  "  many  nameless  injuries  and  cruelties,  by  which 
lie  expressed  his  hatred  of  her  "  (p.  389),  he  determined  to 
"  rid  himself  of  her  altogether,"  and  "  drove  her  from  him,  that 
he  might  follow  out  the  guilty  infatuation  that  was  consuming 
him,  without  being  tortured  by  her  imploring  face,  and  by  the 
silent  power  of  her  presence  and  her  prayers  in  his  house " 
(p.  390). 

That  she  left  him  in  company  with  the  "  partner  of  his  sins," 
expressing  a  devout  trust  that  all  three  would  "meet  in 
heaven  "  (p.  390),  and  never  saw  him  more. 

Such  is  the  story  told  by  Lady  Byron  to  ^Irs  Stowe  in  the 
year  185G,  at  an  interview  which  "  had  almost  the  solemnity 
of  a  deathbed  avowal"  (p.  395),  and  when  her  pliysicians 
"  had  warned  her  that  she  had  very  little  time  to  live  "  (by  the 
way,  she  survived  the  interview  for  four  years).  ^Mrs  Stowe 
adds,  that  Lady  Byron,  after  thus  charging  her  husband  with 
guilt  for  which  no  damnation  could  be  too  deep,  expressed  the 
fullest  confidence  in  "  his  salvation  ;"  and  tells  us  that,  "  while 
speaking  on  the  subject,  the  pale  ethereal  face  became  luminous 
ivith  a  hcavcrdi/  radiance"  (p.  396). 

Whether  IMrs  Stowe  means  to  assert  that  Lady  Byron's 
communication  to  her  was  miraculously  attested  by  one  of  tin; 
signs  that  accompanied  the  delivery  of  the  Law  on  Mount 
Sinai,  or  whether  this  is  merely  one  of  those  blasphemous 
familiarities  with  sacred  subjects  in  which  the  "  unco  gude 
and  rigidly  righteous "  are  wont  to  indulge  to  the  disgust  of 
all  sober-minded  people,  we  must  leave  the  read(>r  to  deter- 
mine. 

In  the  first  place,  we  wouhl  ask.  Has  JNFrs  Stowe  ever  con- 
sidered the  effect  which  her  story,  if  believed,  must  have  upon 


280  VINDKJATIONM. 

till!  reputation,  imt  only  of  tlio.sc;  wlioiu  bIk;  intcMitioniilly 
maligna,  but  on  that  of  Lady  liyron  lierself,  whose  cliampion 
slie  ])rofcsses  to  ha  ? 

Wo  do  not  know  liow  i'ar  tho  doctrines  with  relation  to 
the  sexes,  which  are  said  to  be  entertained  by  a  small  knot 
of  obscure  elderly  females  in  this  country  may  prevail  in 
America ;  but  we  can  assure  Mrs  Stowe  that  a  woman  who 
lived  for  two  years  with  a  husband,  who  to  her  knowledge  was 
carrying  on  an  incestuous  intercourse  with  his  sister,  who  did 
not,  on  the  first  intimation  of  such  guilt,  avoid  his  touch  as 
the  foulest  pollution,  who  did  not  fly  to  those  whom  nature 
pointed  out  to  her  as  her  protectors,  and  denounce  the  monster 
who  had  thus  profaned  the  laws  of  God  and  polluted  the  holi- 
est of  human  tics,  would  in  England  be  held  to  be  a  participant 
in  his  crime,  and  if  she  sought  protection  from  the  law,  would 
be  told  that  she  had  no  right  to  seek  redress  for  an  offence 
she  had  condoned ;  and  if,  in  addition  to  this,  it  turned  out 
that  she  had  maintained  the  outward  appearance  of  the  ut- 
most cordiality  to  the  partner  of  her  husband's  guilt,  that  she 
had  received  her  as  a  guest,  that  she  had  named  her  child 
after  her,  that  she  had  addressed  letters  to  her  couched  in 
language  of  the  fondest  affection, — we  say  distinctly  that  a 
woman  whose  moral  sense  was  so  perverted  would  be  held  in 
contempt  and  abhorrence  by  every  one  of  her  own  sex  who 
had  not  sunk  into  a  state  of  degradation  lower  than  that  of 
the  lowest  prostitute  that  ever  haunted  the  night-houses  of  the 
Haymarket.  The  details  of  our  police-courts  show  that  there 
are  such  households  as  Mrs  Stowe  would  fain  persuade  us 
Lady  Byron's  was ;  but  they  show  us,  also,  that  they  excite 
disgust  even  in  the  wretched  and  vicious  neighbourhoods  in 
which  they  exist. 

We  shall  not  trouble  ourselves  with  the  question  w'hether 
Mrs  Stowe  has  been  guilty  of  treachery  towards  Lady  Byron. 
We  are  not  casuists.  Happily  the  broad  lines  of  duty  are 
sufficiently  defined  for  our  guidance  in  all  the  ordinary  affairs 
of  life.  There  is,  however,  one  case  which  sometimes  arises, 
upon  which  men  of  the  most  honourable  feelings  will  not 
unfrequcntly  come  to  opposite  conclusions.     Wo  mean  the 


LORD    BYRON    AND    HIS    CALUMNIATORS.  287 

question  how  far  the  obligation  of  secrecy  with  regard  to  a 
confidential  communication  is  binding. 

We  presume  that  no  one  will  dispute  that  if  a  native  of  the 
sister  iyle  were,  in  the  strictest  confidence,  to  impart  to  us  his 
intention,  from  the  most  patriotic  motives,  to  accelerate  the 
transfer  of  the  land  of  his  country  to  the  inliabitants  thereof, 
by  shooting  his  landlord,  it  would  be  our  duty  not  only  to 
warn  the  intended  victim  of  his  danger,  but  to  give  informa- 
tion at  the  nearest  police-station,  and  to  do  all  in  our  power 
to  bring  our  confiding  friend  to  the  gallows ;  yet  if  tliat  same 
man  had  accomplished  his  purpose,  and,  when  placed  on  his 
trial,  were  to  make  to  his  counsel  a  full  avowal  of  his  crime, 
that  counsel  would  be  guilty  of  the  grossest  treachery  if  he 
betrayed  his  confession  or  failed  to  strain  every  nerve  to  obtain 
his  acquittal.     Between  these  plain  extremes  there  are,  how- 
ever, an  infinity  of  cases  which  melt  into  one  another  like  the 
delicate  and  imperceptible  gradations  of  an  evening  sky,  and 
with  regard  to  which  it  will  be  difficult  to  find  any  two  per- 
sons who  will  agree  as  to  the  precise  line  of  duty.     We  think 
that  the  error  of  those — and  they  have  not  been  few — to  whom 
Lady  Byron  has  at  various  times  told  this  revolting  story,  lias 
been  in  ever  permitting  themselves  to  be  the  recipients  of  such 
a  confidence.     The  language  they  should  have  held  to  Lady 
Byron  ought  to  have  been,  "What  ground  have  you  for  mak- 
ing this  charge  ?     What  are  your  proofs  ?     Have  you  ever 
given  the  persons  you  accuse  the  opportunity  of  answering  ? 
Do  they  even  know  that  such  imputations  have  been  made 
against  them  by  any  one  ?     Have  not  you  yourself  acted  to- 
wards one  or  both  of  them  in  a  manner  inconsistent  with  the 
truth  of  what  you  now  say  ? "     If  these  questions  could  not 
be  satisfactorily  answered,  either  the  confidence  should  have 
been  distinctly  repudiated,  and  the  accused  parties  warned  of 
the  calumnies,  and  put  on  their  guard  against  the  danger  to 
which  they  were  exposed,  or  the  statement  should  liave  been 
treated  as  the  raving  of  a  lunatic. 

But  whatever  difference  of  opinion  may  exist  as  to  the 
question  of  how  far  Mrs  Stowc  has  been  guilty  of  a  breach 
of  confidence  towards  Lady  Byron,  we  presume  there  can  be 


288  VINDICATIONS. 

none  as  to  tlu;  crime  against  society  which  she  lias  committed, 
or  th(!  (l(iep  culpability  of  any  one  who  gives  such  a  storj' 
to  the  world  without  first  not  only  being  fully  satisfied  of 
its  truth,  but  being  prepared  with  conclusive  evidence  to 
prove  it.  The  person  who  repeats  such  a  tale  incurs  a 
responsibility  hardly  second  to  that  of  the  inventor.  The 
vendor  of  poison  is  equally  guilty  with  the  compounder. 
Now,  what  precaution  has  Mrs  Stowe  taken  to  ascertain, 
before  publishing  it  to  the  world,  whether  the  horrible 
tale  of  which  she  has  become  the  confidant  was  a  tme 
story,  a  malignant  falsehood,  or  the  phantasm  of  a  diseased 
brain  ?  Simply — none.  It  does  not  appear  from  her  narra- 
tive that  she  ever  addressed  a  single  question  to  her  informant, 
or  made  any  inquiry  whatever  from  any  person,  before  she 
published  a  story  which  must,  as  she  well  knew,  inflict  inde- 
scribable agony  on  the  hearts  of  the  living,  defile  the  grave  of 
the  dead,  and  pollute  every  household  in  England  and  America 
with  its  abominations. 

One  would  have  supposed  that  a  tale  so  monstrous,  so  im- 
probable, so  contradictory  to  all  the  rules  that  govern  the 
actions  of  human  beings,  unsupported  by  a  single  tittle  of 
evidence,  would  at  once  have  refuted  itself,  and  would  not 
have  found  a  single  listener  to  give  it  a  moment's  credence. 
Such,  however,  strange  to  say,  is  not  the  case.  Some  persons 
have  accepted  the  story ;  and  a  duty  is  thus  cast  on  every  man 
who  has  a  heart  to  feel  indignation  at  the  monstrous  wicked- 
ness of  the  calumny,  not  only  on  one  of  England's  greatest 
poets,  but  still  more  on  the  memory  of  a  woman  who  lived 
honoured  and  beloved,  and  round  whose  grave  affectionate 
memories  have  gathered  for  many  years,  to  come  forward  and 
denounce  the  falsehood  w^ith  tongue  and  pen. 

It  may  seem  strange  that  we  should  have  to  remind  our 
readers  of  some  of  the  most  elementary  principles  that  govern 
all  inquiries  into  the  truth  of  facts,  whether  such  inquiries  are 
judicial,  historical,  or  philosophical.  Yet  the  prejudices  and 
passions  which  have  attended  upon  the  subject  now  under 
discussion  render  this  necessary. 

The  first  of  these  principles  is,  that  it  is  incumbent  on  the 


LORD    BYRON    AND    HIS    CALUMNIATORS.  289 

party  asserting  a  fact  to  prove  it,  and  not  on  the  party  denying 
that  fact  to  disprove  it ;  in  other  words,  the  onus  'prohandi  lies 
on  the  prosecutor. 

Secondly,  In  all  criminal  cases  the  presumption  is  in  favour 
of  innocence. 

Tliirdly,  Wlien  a  witness  gives  two  accounts  of  the  same 
transaction  inconsistent  with  or  contradictory  to  each  other, 
his  evidence  goes  for  nothing ;  for  both  cannot  be  true,  though 
both  may  be  false,  and  there  is  no  preponderance  of  testimony 
in  favour  of  either. 

Fourthly,  If  a  vi^itness  depones  falsely  as  to  the  main  facts, 
his  evidence  is  unworthy  of  belief  as  to  the  minor  circum- 
stances of  the  case. 

We  shall  have  to  apply  these  principles  to  the  present  case, 
and  we  beg  the  reader  to  keep  them  in  mind. 

AVe  have,  in  the  article  before  alluded  to,  given  our  reasons 
for  holding  the  character  of  Lord  Byron  to  be  a  matter  of 
public  interest.  We  cannot  agree  with  those  who  maintain 
that  the  poet  may  be  considered  as  a  separate  entity  from 
the  man.  It  would  be  matter  for  shame  and  sorrow  were  it 
to  be  proved  that  Milton  was  a  time-server,  that  Cowper  was 
a  profligate,  that  Burns  was  cold-hearted  and  ungenerous,  or 
that  Scott  was  not  equally  remarkable  for  the  virtues  of  his 
life  as  for  the  brilliancy  and  extent  of  his  genius.  But  there 
is  a  still  deeper  interest  at  stake  in  this  inquiry.  The  crime 
alleged  necessarily  involves  the  guilt  of  two  persons.  It  is 
impossible  to  sever  the  charge.  Convict  Byron,  and  you 
equally  convict  his  .sister.  Acquit  one,  and  you  acquit  botlin 
The  accusation  brought  against  Mrs  Leigh  concerns  ever} 
woman  who  would  guard  her  grave  from  insult  and  her 
memory  from  slander,  when  perhaps  every  tongue  that  couhl 
vindicate  her  reputation  may  be  cold  and  silent  as  her  own. 

If  this  kind  of  treason  to  society  is  tolerated,  there  is  uo 
knowing  when  it  will  stop.  An  attempt  was  once  made  to 
soil  the  fair  fame  of  Martha  Blount,  and  tlie  offender  was  de- 
servedly "made  manure  of  for  the  tt)p  of  Parnassus"  by  Byron 
himself  We  may,  perhaps,  some  day  be  told  that  Mary  Un- 
win's  atfeclion  for  Cowper  was  sensual,  or  that  Cliarles  Lamb's 

T 


200  VINDICATIONS. 

life-long  devotion  to  his  unhappy  sister  was  criminal,  and  his 
heroic  self-sacrifice  prompted  by  the  foulest  motives. 

Before  enterintf  upon  the  examination  of  how  far  Mrs  Stowe 
may  have  substantiated  her  charge,  we  would  remind  the 
reader  that  the  fact  of  this  accusation  being  the  one  selected 
by  Lady  Byron,  conclusively  disposes  of  all  the  nameless 
suspicions,  even  more  revolting,  which,  from  her  silence,  have 
attached  for  more  than  half  a  century  to  the  name  of  her  hus- 
band. We  are  no  longer  fighting  shadows,  which  change  their 
form  at  every  moment,  like  the  malignant  'Efrect  of  the 
'  Arabian  Nights,'  who  was  now  a  scorpion,  then  an  eagle, 
afterwards  a  black  cat,  and,  defeated  in  every  shape,  was  at 
last  reduced  to  a  heap  of  filthy  ashes.  We  have  emerged  into 
daylight,  and  have  a  specific  charge  to  meet.  That  which 
Lady  Byron  denied  to  the  earnest  and  repeated  entreaties  of 
her  husband  has  been  granted  to  us  ;  though  the  circum- 
stances M'hich  attended  and  motives  which  prompted  it,  pre- 
clude us  from  feeling  any  gratitude  for  the  disclosure. 

Some  of  our  readers  may  perhaps  not  know  accurately  who 
Mrs  Leigh  was.  She  \vas  the  only  child  of  Captain  John 
Byron  (the  father  of  Lord  Byron)  by  his  first  wife,  Baroness 
Conyers  in  her  own  right.  After  the  death  of  Lady  Conyers 
in  1784,  Captain  Byron  married  Miss  Catherine  Gordon,  a 
relation  of  the  Earl  of  Huntly,  the  only  child  of  this  second 
marriage  being  the  celebrated  Lord  Byron,  who  was  born 
on  the  22d  January  1788.  As  joeerages  are  too  polite  to 
record  the  age  of  ladies,  we  are  unable  to  give  the  precise  date 
of  Mrs  Leigh's  birth  ;  but  as  her  parents  were  married  in 
1770,  and  her  mother  died  in  January  1784,  she  must  have 
been  born  some  time  between  those  two  dates.  She  could  not 
be  less  than  four,  and  we  believe  was  as  much  as  eight,  years 
older  than  Lord  Byron.  In  August  1807  the  Hon.  !Miss  Byi-on 
married  Colonel  Leigh  of  the  10th  Hussars.  Seven  children, 
born  at  various  intervals  between  1808  and  1820,  were  the 
fruit  of  this  marriage.  Colonel  Leigh  died  in  May  1850, 
and  Mrs  Leigh  survived  him  little  more  than  a  year,  her 
death  taking  place  in  October  1851,  after  forty-four  years  of 
married  life,  checkered  by  the  sorrows  which  are  the  lot  of 


LORD    BYRON    AND    HIS    CALUMNIATORS.  291 

humanity,  and  of  which  a  more  than  common  number  fell  to 
her  share.  The  constant,  unvarying,  and  mutual  affection 
which  existed  between  herself  and  her  husband  was  known  to 
all  her  family  and  friends,  and  is  attested  by  those  who  still 
survive,  and  whose  memory  extends  to  what  is  now  so  distant  a 
period.  She  numbered  amongst  her  friends  women  eminent 
alike  for  their  virtues  and  theii'  rank,  amongst  the  most  inti- 
mate of  whom  were  the  late  Countess  of  Chichester,  the  vener- 
able Duchess-Dowager  of  Norfolk,  and  Lady  Gertinde  Sloane 
Stanley.  She  was  cheered  through  life  by  the  sympathy  and 
affection,  and  followed  to  the  grave  by  the  respect,  of  all  who 
knew  her.  Tn\o  of  her  own  children  are  still  living.  She  was 
a  second  mother  to  those  of  a  friend  whose  wife  died  young. 
In  their  minds  all  the  holiest  associations  of  childhood  are 
blended  with  her  memory.  The  accents  of  her  voice  and  the 
expression  of  her  countenance,  as  they  lisped  their  evening 
prayer  at  her  knee,  still  come  back  to  their  memory  with  a 
pure  and  holy  light  through  the  mists  and  vicissitudes  of  more 
than  half  a  century.  Is  it  no  crime  to  have  wrung  these  hearts 
by  proclaiming  this  loathsome  lie  of  one  they  loved  so  weU  ? 
Is  Mrs  Stowe  so  utterly  devoid  of  justice,  truth,  mercy,  and 
charity,  that  she  greedily  swallowed  this  filthy  tale  without 
one  word  of  inquiry — without  doubt  or  hesitation — without 
seeking  one  particle  of  evidence  in  its  support,  and  then  basely 
sold  it  for  "  thirty  pieces  of  silver  "  ? 

Mrs  Stowe  might  perhaps  fancy  that  the  lapse  of  more  than 
half  a  century,  the  death  of  nearly  every  one  of  those  illus- 
trious men  whose  friendship  for  Byron  is  matter  of  history, 
would  secure  her  foul  calumny  from  challenge.  Happily  this 
is  not  so.  The  age  of  chivalry  is  not  past.  The  blood  that 
beat  high  on  the  held  of  Cre(jy,  and  that  was  freely,  and,  alas  ! 
fatally,  poured  out  at  the  Alma,  brooks  no  concealment,  seeks 
no  shield  under  a  nom  de  2)lume.  Mr  Delme  IvadclifTe,  in  a 
letter  which  he  has  addressed  to  the  editor  of  the  '  Daily  Tele- 
graph,' and  which  does  him  the  highest  honour,  at  once  de- 
nounced the  "  True  Story  "  as  a  "  lie — an  odious  damned  lie : 
upon  my  soul,  a  lie — a  wicked  lie."  Such,  he  says,  "  is  the 
burst  of  indignation  with  which    iMnilia  repudiates  the  foul 


21)2  VINDICATIONS. 

aspersion  of  la^'o  on  tlu;  spotless  fame  of  the  gentle  Desde- 
nioua.  Such  is  the  reply  to  Mrs  Stowe  on  the  lips  of  all  to 
whom  the  memory  of  Mrs  Lei^'h  is  dear;  and  dear  must  it  be 
to  all  who  knew  her  as  I  did."  Nurtured  "  under  her  wing, 
and  having  from  childhood  throughout  her  lifetime  occupied 
a  position  little  less  than  that  of  a  son  in  her  family." 

Mrs  Stowe  has  assumed  the  character,  and  taken  upon  her- 
self the  duties  and  responsibilities,  of  a  public  prosecutor. 

She  deliberately  arraigns  Lord  Byron  and  his  sister,  Mrs 
Leigh,  at  the  bar  of  public  opinion,  and  charges  them  with  the 
commission  of  a  revolting  crime  in  1816. 

How  does  she  prove  her  charge  ?  In  what  mode  does  she 
satisfy  the  first  requirement  which  casts  tlie  onus  prohnndi 
upon  her  ? 

She  says  simply  that  Lady  Byron  told  her  so  in  the  year 
1856.  In  the  whole  of  Mrs  Stowe's  "  True  Story,"  which  ex- 
tends over  twenty-nine  octavo  pages,  there  is  not  to  be  found 
one  single  fact  confirmatory  of  this  assertion.  That  Mrs  Stowe 
is  not  the  first  person  to  whom  Lady  Pyron  has  made  this 
astounding  statement  we  well  know  ;  that  she  has  repeated  it 
at  various  times  during  a  period  extending  over  many  years, 
and  to  several  people,  cannot  be  disputed  :  but  Mrs  Stowe  is 
the  first,  as  far  as  we  know,  that  has  undertaken  the  respon- 
sibility of  publishing  the  charge  in  such  a  form  as  that  it 
could  be  met  and  answered,  and  its  falsehood  demonstrated. 

We  distinctly  challenge  any  one  of  Lady  Byron's  advocates 
to  produce  the  slightest  particle  of  evidence  in  support  of  her 
assertion. 

Lady  Byron,  therefore,  being  the  sole  witness  (if  witness  she 
can  be  called,  when  her  testimony  consists  of  nothing  but 
accusation),  let  us  see  how  far  her  conduct  has  been  consistent 
with  her  statement. 

"We  must  go  back  to  the  period  of  Lady  Byron's  man-iage  in 
January  1815 — and  we  would  here  refer  our  readers  to  the 
article  which  appeared  in  our  July  number  last  year  for  the 
events  until  the  month  of  INIarch  following,  when  Lord  and 
Lady  Byron  were  the  guests  of  Colonel  and  INIrs  Leigh  in 
Cambridgeshire.^     Whether  this  -svas  the  commencement  of  the 

1  Ante,  p.  264. 


LORD    BYRON    AND    HIS    CALUMNIATORS.  293 

intimacy  between  Lady  Byron  and  Mrs  Leigh,  or  whether  their 
acquaintance  began  at  an  earlier  period,  we  are  unable  to  say  ; 
but  in  the  autumn  of  the  same  year  Lady  Byron  selected  Mrs 
Leigh  as  a  friend  and  companion,  to  be  with  her  during  her 
approaching  confinement.  It  is  impossible  to  suggest  stronger 
evidence  than  is  afforded  by  this  fact,  that  at  that  time  no  sus- 
picion unfavourable  to  Mrs  Leigh  could  have  crossed  the  mind 
of  Lady  Ijyron.  Lady  Noel  being  unavoidably  prevented  from 
joining  Mrs  Leigh  in  the  discharge  of  this  duty,  Mrs  Clermont 
(the  original  of  '  The  Sketch ')  was  sent  to  supply  her  place. 
Lady  Byron  was  confined  on  the  10th  of  December.  The  child 
was  christened  shortly  afterwards,  Mrs  Leigh  being  her  god- 
mother. 

Whether  Lord  Byron  was  right  or  not  in  his  suspicions  of 
Mrs  Clermont,  whether  she  availed  herself  of  the  opportunity 
atforded  by  Lady  Byron's  confinement 

"  To  instil 
The  iiu'^ry  essence  uf  her  deadly  will," 

it  is  impossible  to  say  ;  l3ut  that  something  had  occurred  to 
disturb  Lady  Byron's  peace  of  mind,  and  tliat,  whatever  that 
something  was,  it  did  not  afiect  her  feelings  or  conduct  to- 
wards Mrs  Leigh,  is  conclusively  shown  by  the  following 
mysterious  letter,  which  was  addressed  by  Lady  Byron  to  INIrs 
Leigh  in  the  early  part  of  January,  whilst  they  were  both  in 
the  same  house  together  :  ^ 

"  You  will  think  me  very  foolish  ;  but  I  have  tried  two  or 
three  times,  and  cannot  talk  to  you  of  your  departure  witli  a 
decent  visage — so  let  me  say  one  word  in  this  way,  to  spare 
my  i)hilosophy.  With  the  expectations  which  I  liavc,  I  never 
will  nor  can  ask  you  to  stay  one  moment  longer  than  you  are 

*  As  an  attempt  lias  been  made  to  cast  doulits  on  the  ^ennineness  of  these 
letters,  which  lirst  appeared  in  an  article  in  the  '  (^>uarterly  Review '  of  la.st 
November,  we  are  {,'lad  to  have  this  opportunity  of  statin;,',  as  we  arc  antlio- 
rised  to  do,  that  the  first,  second,  third,  and  last  of  the  series  are  vouched  for 
liy  the  Earl  of  Chiclieater.  The  other  three  letters  are  derived  from  a  source 
eiinally  unimpeachable  ;  but  as  we  have  not  obtained  a  distinct  authority  to 
mention  whence  they  come,  we  must  request  the  reader  for  the  present  to  trust 
to  their  authenticity  on  the  credit  of  the  well-known  writer  of  that  article,  of 
the  editor  and  publisher  of  tlie  'Quarterly  Review,'  and  of  ourselves. 


294  VINDICATIONS. 

inclined  to  do.  It  would  \]h-\  tliu  worst  return  for  all  1 
ever  received  from  you.  JUil  in  tins  at  least  1  am  'truth 
itself,'  when  I  say  that  whatever  the  situation  may  be,  there 
is  no  one  whose  society  is  dearer  to  me,  or  can  contribute 
more  to  my  happiness.  These  feelings  will  not  change  under 
any  circumstances,  and  I  should  l)e  grieved  if  you  did  not 
understand  them.  Shoidd  you  hereafter  condemn  me,  I  shall 
not  love  you  less.  I  will  say  no  more.  Judge  for  yourself 
about  going  or  staying.  I  wish  you  to  consider  yourself,  if 
you  could  be  wise  enough  to  do  that  for  the  first  time  in  your 
life.— Thine,  A.  I.  B." 

Addressed  on  the  cover  "  To  the  Hon.  Mrs  Leigh." 

Lady  Byron  left  London  on  the  15th  of  January,  and  imme- 
diately afterwards  sent  to  her  husband  what  is  now  generally 
known  as  the  "  Dear  Duck  "  letter,  contemporaneously  with 
which  she  wrote  to  Mrs  Leigh  as  follows : — 

"  KiRKBY  Mallouy,  Jail.  16,  1816. 
(The  day  after  she  left  London.) 
"  My  deaeest  A., — It  is  my  great  comfort  that  you  are  in 
riccadilly." 

A  week  afterwards  she  writes  : — 

"  KiRKBY  Mallory,  Jan.  23,  1816. 

"  Dearest  A., — I  know  you  feel  for  me  as  I  do  for  you,  and 
perhaps  I  am  better  understood  than  I  think.  You  have  been, 
ever  since  I  knew  you,  my  best  comforter,  and  will  so  remain, 
unless  you  grow  tired  of  the  office,  which  may  well  be." 

And  then  in  rapid  succession  came  the  following  letters  : — 

"Jan.  25,  1S16. 

"  My  dearest  Augusta, — Shall  I  still  be  your  sister  ?  I 
must  resign  my  rights  to  be  so  considered  ;  but  I  don't  think 
that  will  make  any  difference  in  the  kindness  I  have  so 
uniformly  experienced  from  you." 

"KiRKBY  Mallory,  Feb.  3,  1S16. 
"  ]\Iy  dearest  Augusta, — You  are  desired  by  your  brother 


LORD    BYRON    AND    IIIS    CALUMNIATORS.  295 

to  ask  if  my  father  has  acted  with  my  concurrence  in  pro- 
posing a  separation.  He  has.  It  cannot  be  supposed  tliat,  in 
my  present  distressing  situation,  I  am  capable  of  stating  in  a 
detailed  manner  the  reasons  which  will  not  only  justify  this 
measure,  but  compel  me  to  take  it ;  and  it  never  can  be  my 
wish  to  remember  unnecessarily  [sic\  those  injuries  for  which, 
however  deep,  I  feel  no  resentment.  I  will  now  only  recall 
to  Lord  Byron's  mind  his  avowed  and  insurmountable  aver- 
sion to  the  married  state,  and  the  desire  and  determination  he 
has  expressed  ever  since  its  commencement  to  free  himself 
from  that  bondage,  as  finding  it  quite  insupportable,  though 
candidly  acloiowledging  that  no  effort  of  duty  or  affection 
has  been  wanting  on  my  part.  He  has  too  painfully  convinced 
me  that  all  these  attempts  to  contribute  towards  his  happiness 
were  wholly  useless,  and  most  unwelcome  to  him.  I  enclose 
this  letter  to  my  father,  wishing  it  to  receive  his  sanction. — 
Ever  yoiu's  most  affectionately,  A.  I.  Byron." 

"  Feb.  4,  1816. 
"  I  hope,  my  dear  A.,  that  you  would  on  no  account  with- 
hold from  your  brother  the  letter  which  I  sent  yesterday,  in 
answer  to  yours  written  by  his  desire ;  particularly  as  one 
which  I  have  received  from  himself  to-day  renders  it  still 
more  important  that  he  should  know  the  contents  of  that 
addressed  to  you. — I  am,  in  haste,  and  not  very  well,  yours 
most  afiectionately,  A.  I.  Byron." 

"  KiiiKHY  Mallory,  Fib.  14,  ISIG. 
"  The  present  sufferings  of  all  may  yet  be  repaid  in  bles- 
sings. Do  not  despair  absolutely,  dearest ;  and  leave  me  but 
enough  of  your  interest  to  afford  you  any  consolation  by  par- 
taking of  that  sorrow  which  I  am  most  unha})py  to  cause 
thus  unintentionally.  You  will  be  of  my  opinion  hereafter, 
and  at  present  your  bitterest  reproach  would  be  forgiven ; 
though  Heaven  knows  you  have  considered  me  more  than  a 
thousand  would  have  done  —  more  than  anything  but  my 
affection  for  B.,  one  most  dear  to  you,  could  deserve.  I  must 
not  remember  these  feelings.  Farewell !  God  bless  you,  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart.  A.  1.  B." 


29G  VINDICATIONS. 

Mrs  Lciyh  leniaincd  with  hur  biolliei  in  riccadilly  until 
lifter  tlie  lir.st  week  in  March,  when  she  removed  to  the  rooms 
in  St  James's  Palace,  wliicli  she  lield  as  one  of  tlie  ladies 
attached  to  the  Court  of  Queen  Charlotte.  Preparations  were 
being  then  made  for  the  approaching  marriage  of  the  Piiucess 
Charlotte.  Lord  Byron  left  England  about  the  middle  of 
April.  From  the  day  that  Lady  Byron  left  her  husband  under 
the  same  roof  with  his  sister,  until  the  day  he  left  his  country 
for  ever — a  period  of  niore  than  three  months — Lady  Byron 
kept  up  an  uninterrupted  intercourse  of  the  most  all'ectionate 
kind  with  Mrs  Leigh,  not  only  in  the  correspondence  of  which 
we  have  given  some  specimens,  but  in  repeated  personal  in- 
terviews ;  and  subsequently  to  Lord  Byron's  departure,  the 
the  same  kind  of  intercourse,  both  by  letter  and  personally  in 
London  and  during  visits  in  the  country,  continued  up  to  the 
time  of  Lord  Byron's  death,  which  occun'ed  in  1824.  About 
two  years  after  that  event,  Lady  Byron  introduced  a  near 
relative,  the  present  ^lajor  Noel,  then  a  young  man  just  going 
up  to  Cambridge,  to  Mrs  Leigh,  who  was  living  in  St  James's 
Palace,  and  who  gave  him  introductions  to  her  Cambridgeshire 
friends.     We  have  Major  Noel's  authority  for  this  anecdote. 

"We  now  turn  to  the  statement  made  by  Lady  Byron  to 
Lady  Anne  Barnard — at  what  period  it  does  not  very  clearly 
appear,  but  certainly  within  two  years  after  the  separation, 
and  communicated  by  Lord  Lindsay  to  the  '  Times '  in  a  letter 
dated  3d  September — and  what  do  we  find  ?  A  totally  dif- 
ferent charge — not  only  utterly  inconsistent  with  Mrs  Stowe's 
story,  but  contradictory  to  it.  The  charge  made  to  Lady  Anne 
Barnard  was  that  Lord  Byron  was  in  the  habit  of  spending  his 
evenings  in  "  the  haunts  of  vice."  Everybody  knows  w^hat 
that  means.  Lady  Byron  told  Lady  Anne  Barnard  that  she 
"  kept  his  sister  "  (the  very  sister  against  whom  tliis  revolting 
charge  is  now  made)  "  as  much  with  him  as  possible,"  evi- 
dently meaning  that  she  did  so  as  a  check  upon  her  husband's 
prolligacy.  She  expressed  astonishment  at  his  avowals  of 
remorse  for  these  alleged  transgressions  being  made  "  tlwv.gh 
his  sister  was  present."  It  is  impossible  to  read  Lady  Anne 
Barnard's  narrative  without  seeing  that  Lady  Byron  nt  that 


LORD    BYRON    AND    HIS    CALUMNIATORS.  297 

time  represented  Mrs  Leigh  as  exercising  a  purifying  and 
restraining  influence  over  her  brother. 

We  will  not  insult  the  intellect  of  our  readers  by  adding 
one  word  to  this  conclusive  evidence.  It  is  morally  impos- 
sible that  these  letters  could  have  been  addressed  and  this  line 
of  conduct  pursued  by  Lady  r>yron  towards  a  woman  whom 
she  believed  to  be  carrying  on  an  incestuous  intercourse  with 
her  husband. 

])r  Lushington's  letter  has  always  been  the  chief  card  in  the 
hands  of  Lady  Byron's  advocates.  It  has  been  supposed  that 
Dr  Lushington  knew  all  the  circumstances,  and  by  this  letter 
gave  his  sanction  to  the  whole  of  Lady  Byron's  conduct  in  the 
affair  of  the  separation.  It  will  be  well,  therefore,  to  examine 
what  ground  there  is  for  this  assumption,  what  part  Dr  Lush- 
ington played  in  the  transaction,  and  what  his  letter  really 
was. 

Dr  Lushington  was  Lady  Byron's  counsel.  He  was  first 
consulted  after  Lady  Byron  had  left  London  in  January  181 G. 
lie  says,  "  I  was  originally  consulted  by  Lady  Noel  on  your 
behalf  whilst  you  were  in  the  country."  ^ 

Lady  Byron  states  that  she  had  empowered  her  ujotlicr 
to  take  legal  opinions  on  a  written  statement  drawn  w\)  by 
herself.^ 

Lady  Noel  upon  this  consulted  Dr  Lushington,  then  a  young 
advocate  rising  into  practice.  We  do  not  know  the  exact  age 
of  the  venerable  lawyer ;  but  as  these  events  occurred  fifty- 
three  years  ago,  and  he  still  happily  survives,  we  may  fairly 
reckon  that  he  was  not  at  this  time  much  above  five-and-thirly 
years  of  age,  which  at  the  bar  is  considered  young.^  The  advice 
which  he  gave  was  that  a  reconciliation  was  practicable,  and 
tins  was  accompanied  by  an  offer  of  his  assistance  towards 

•  Life  of  Byron,  662.  In  a  note  to  "  Don  Juan,"  canto  i.  st.  .\xvii.,  n  par- 
enthesis is  filled  up  with  the  name  of  Dr  Lushington  where  Lord  Byron  liad 
evidently  merely  said  "a  hnvyi-r."  It  is  but  justice  to  Dr  Lushin<cton  to  point 
out  the  error  coniniitttil  in  attrilmting  to  him  the  very  uni)rof(s.sional  act  tliero 
alluded  to.  Dr  Lushington's  own  letter  is  conclusive  that  he  was  not  the  per- 
son who  so  misconducted  himself. 

-  Lady  Hyron's  Remarks  ;  Life  of  Byron,  6G'2. 

a  He  was  in  fact  thirty-four,  l.aving  hccii  horn  in  17S2. 


298  VINDICATIONS. 

effecting  that  object.  Lady  Nod  left,  having  rec(!iv(j(l  this 
very  judicious  advice.  A  fortuiglit  passed,  and  then  Lady 
Dyron  in  jierson  sought  an  interview  with  iJr  Lushington. 
Then  says  l)r  Lushington  :  "  I  was  for  the  first  time  informed 
by  you  of  facts  utterly  unknown,  as  1  have  no  doubt,  to  Sir 
TJiili)h  and  Lady  Noel.  On  receiving  this  information,  my 
oi)inion  was  entirely  changed  ;  I  considered  a  reconciliation 
impossible.  I  declared  my  opinion,  and  added  that,  if  such  an 
idea  should  be  entertained,  I  could  not,  either  professionally  or 
otherwise,  take  any  part  towards  effecting  it."  Such  are  Dr 
Lushingtou's  Avords  in  a  letter  written  in  1830,  in  reply  to  a 
request  from  Lady  Byron  that  he  would  state  what  he  recollected 
of  the  circumstances  attending  her  consultation  with  him. 

It  is  a  trite  saying,  that  the  opinion  is  worth  nothing 
without  the  case.  Till  we  know  what  Lady  Byron  told  Dr 
Lushington,  it  is  imi^ossible  that  we  should  estimate  the  value 
of  the  advice  she  received.  As  to  this,  Dr  Lushington  has 
hitherto  observed  the  most  profound  silence.  No  rumour  has 
ever  reached  the  outer  world  as  to  what  tliis  secret  communi- 
cation was  that  could  be  traced  to  him.  Whether  he  will 
consider  that  the  chain  of  professional  confidence  still  binds 
his  tongue  we  know  not,  but  until  he  gives  utterance  we  are 
driven  to  an  analysis  of  such  facts  as  are  in  our  possession  to 
assist  us  in  arriving  at  a  conclusion  as  to  what  that  communi- 
cation was.  Lady  Byron,  at  various  times,  and  ultimately  to 
^Irs  Stowe,  has  unquestionably  asserted  that  incest  with  his 
sister  was  the  cause  of  her  separation  from  her  husband.  Did 
she  state  this,  or  some  other  reason,  to  Dr  Lushington  in  1816 
as  the  ground  of  her  determination  to  separate  from  her  hus- 
band ?  If  she  stated  that  this  was  the  cause,  her  letters 
written  to  ]\Irs  Leigh  at  the  very  same  time,  her  statement 
made  to  Lady  Anne  Barnard  immediately  afterwards,  and  her 
whole  course  of  conduct  subsequently,  prove,  incontestably, 
either  that  she  was  stating  to  Dr  Lushington  what  she  knew 
to  be  false,  or  that  she  was  guilty  of  an  amount  of  duplicity 
which  is  not  only  wholly  incredible,  but  which,  if  it  could  be 
believed,  would  deprive  her  of  all  right  to  be  treated  as  a 
witness  worthy  of  belief. 


LORD    BYKON    AND    HIS    CALUMNIATOKS.  299 

On  tho  other  hand,  if  she  assigned  a  difibient  cause  to  Dr 
Lushington,  she  either  spoke  falsely  to  him,  or  she  has  spoken 
falsely  to  Mrs  Stowe  and  her  other  confidants.  From  one 
horn  or  the  other  of  this  dilemma  escape  is  impossible.  Each 
is  equally  destructive  of  all  reliance  on  Lady  Byron's  testi- 
mony. Which  is  most  disgraceful  it  is  difficult  to  say. 
Mistake  in  this  case  is  impossible.  Mrs  Stowe  may  have 
embellished  Lady  Byron's  narrative  ;  but  that  incest  committed 
with  ;Mrs  Leigli  during  the  period  of  Lady  Byron's  coluil)ita- 
tion  with  her  husband,  known  at  that  period  to  Lady  Byron 
to  have  been  so  committed,  was  asserted  by  Lady  Byron  to 
have  been  the  cause  and  justification  of  the  separation,  there 
can  be  no  doubt. 

Lady  Byron  has  unquestionably  told  this  story  to  other 
persons  besides  Mrs  Stowe,  though  at  what  period  she  began 
to  do  so  we  are  unable  to  state  with  accuracy ;  and  we  see  no 
valid  ground  for  supposing  that  she  told  any  other  to  Dr 
Lushington.  It  is  amply  sufficient  to  account  for  his  change 
of  opinion ;  and  that  being  so,  we  think  we  should  not  be 
justified  on  mere  conjecture  in  suspecting  Lady  Byron  of  the 
complicated  and  improbable  guilt  of  having  given  birth  to 
another  fabrication  e([ually  as  monstrous  as  that  with  which 
Mrs  Stowe  has  disgusted  the  world. 

We  do  not  assert  with  confidence  that  this  is  so.  In  tread- 
ing on  a  soil  so  fertile  in  mendacity,  we  may  easily  lose 
our  way  in  a  thicket  of  falsehoods,  but  the  most  simple  solu- 
tion seems  to  us  to  be  the  following : — 

Lady  Byron,  we  doubt  not,  told  her  mother  that  her  hus- 
band had  been  guilty  of  infidelity,  and  told  her  no  more.  Dr 
Lushington,  upon  receiving  this  statement  from  Lady  Noel,  gave 
the  advice  which  any  one  but  a  pettifogging  lawyer  who  sought 
to  infiame  a  quarrel  would  give  under  such  circumstances. 

Lady  Byron,  then,  relying,  as  the  result  has  proved  she 
might  safely  rely,  on  Dr  Lushington's  secrecy,  makes  tlio 
damning  addition  that  the  partner  of  his  guilt  was  liis  sister. 
It  may  naturally  occur  to  the  reader  to  ask,  Why  did  not  Dr 
Lushington  require  proof  of  the  truth  of  Lady  liyron's  state- 
ment before  giving  his  opinion  on  it  ?     Tlic  answer  is  obvious 


;3()()  VINDMATIONH. 

to  any  prulcssiniiiil  iiiiiii.  ])r  Lushiii^ftoii  was  asked  for  his 
opinion  on  a  ,t,Mven  statement  of  facts.  Lady  Byron  was  re- 
sponsible for  the  truth  of  tliose  facts,  not  l)r  Lusliinfftcjn.  He 
was  not  asked,  Are  such  and  sucli  circunjstances  sulhcient  to 
warrant  me  in  coming  to  the  conclusion  tliat  my  husband  lias 
been  guilty  of  such  a  crime  ?  but,  Assuming  tliat  he  has  com- 
mitted it,  am  I  required  any  longer  to  continue  cohabitation 
with  him  ?  Dr  Lushington,  as  Lady  Byron's  counsel,  was 
bound  to  receive  her  statement,  and  miglit  well  believe  that 
she  would  not  make  so  revolting  a  charge  without  conclusive 
proofs  to  support  it,  into  which  it  was  not  his  duty  to  inquire. 

Who  could  suppose  that  at  the  very  time  that  Lady  Byron 
was  making  tliis  liorrible  charge  against  Mrs  Leigh  in  the 
secrecy  of  Dr  Lushiugton's  chambers,  she  was  addressing  her 
as  her  "  dearest  Augusta,"  telling  her  that  it  was  her  "  great 
comfort "  that  she  was  in  Piccadilly  with  her  brother,  implor- 
ing her  still  to  consider  her  "  as  a  sister,"  and  "  blessing  her 
from  the  bottom  of  her  heart "  ! !  Yet  such  is  the  fact.  Hav- 
ing attained  her  object,  she  preserved  the  most  obdurate  silence 
for  a  time.  When  Lord  Byron  was  dead,  when  his  ^lemoirs 
were  burned,  she  began  to  whisper  into  willing  and  credulous 
ears  the  malignant  calumny  which  has  been  crawling  about 
the  world  for  years,  like  some  loathsome  reptile,  until  at  last 
it  has  blundered  into  daylight  only  to  be  crushed. 

Tliis  appears  to  us  to  be  the  hypothesis  most  consistent 
with  all  the  known  facts  of  the  case.  We  do  not  deny  that 
it  is  possible  that  the  same  mind  which  produced  this  wicked 
fabrication  may  have  given  birth  to  another  as  foul  and  im- 
natural ;  but  until  Dr  Lushington  breaks  silence,  or  we  liave 
something  more  in  support  of  such  a  suggestion  than  tlie 
vaguest  conjecture,  we  shall  adhere  to  the  belief  that  Lady 
Byron  told  Dr  Lushington  in  1816  the  same  story  in  its  main 
facts  that  she  told  Mrs  Stowe  in  1856. 

It  has  been  frequently  urged  that  Lord  Byron's  repeated 
assertion,  that  he  was  ignorant  of  what  was  imputed  to  him, 
must  have  been  false ;  and  it  is  argued  that,  had  he  not  been 
conscious  of  some  deep  criminality,  he  would  have  sought  to 
compel  Lady  Byron's  return  to  his  bed  by  instituting  a  suit 


LORD    BYRON    AND    ills    (JALU.MNIATOKS.  301 

for  the  restoration  of  conjugal  rights.  Tliere  are  two  answers 
to  this  argument.  In  the  first  place,  the  enforcement  of  the 
legal  rights  of  a  husband  upon  the  person  of  a  reluctant  wife 
by  the  strong  arm  of  the  law,  is  a  proceeding  revolting  to  the 
mind  of  every  man  who  has  risen  aljove  the  rank  of  a  savage. 
The  suggestion  even  of  a  resort  to  such  a  course  is  worthy 
of  a  Hottentot.  Secondly,  it  is  not  impossible  that  ]')yron 
might  be  conscious  of  such  irregularities  as  would  have  barred 
such  a  suit ;  and  it  must  be  remembered  that  any  transgres- 
sion of  this  kind,  though  it  might  be  such  as  even  the  stern 
moralist  Johnson  declared  it  was  a  wife's  duty  to  forgive, 
would  have  been  sufficient  for  that  purpose. 

The  present  discussion  has  happily  brought  to  light  two 
pieces  of  evidence  which  put  the  question  of  Lord  Byron's  sin- 
cerity beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt.  At  the  time  of  the 
separation,  Lord  Broughton,  then  Mr  Hobhouse,  acted  as  Lord 
Byron's  friend ;  Mr  Wilmot  Horton,  and,  if  we  are  not  mis- 
taken, the  late  Sir  Francis  Doyle,  acting  for  Lady  Byron.  The 
following  memorandum  from  a  lady,  of  a  conversation  with 
Lord  Broughton,  has  been  furnished  by  Lord  Lindsay,  who 
thus  makes  himself  responsible  for  its  genuineness,  to  the 
'Times':— 

"  Six  or  seven  years  ago,  when  Lord  Broughton's  remarkable 
memory  was  as  good  as  ever,  he  said  to  me  most  earnestly, 

'  Mrs ,  when  I  was  appointed  (or  desired)  by  Byron  to 

examine  matters  with  Lady  Byron's  friends,  I  wrote  down 
every  vice,  and  sin,  and  crime,  and  horror,  in  short,  of  whicli  a 
human  being  can  be  capable ;  and  I  said,  "  Now  I  shall  not 
stir  in  this  business  till  you  tell  me  whether  you  accuse  him 
of  any  of  these  things,  and  which  of  them  it  is."  And  the 
answer  wa.s,  "  It  is  none  of  these  things."  Then  I  said,  "  Wliat 
is  it  ? "     But  they  never  would  say.' 

"  After  a  pause.  Lord  Broughton  continued  :  '  I  said  to  By- 
ron, "  Byron  !  what  is  it?"  He  said,  "  I  give  you  my  word  I 
don't  know  (or,  I  know  no  more  tiian  you  do)."  I  said,  "  Have 
you  ever  been  unkind  or  harsh  to  her?"  He  said,  "Only 
once,  and  I'll  tell  you  about  it.     One  day  in  the  middle  of  my 


302  VINDICATIONS. 

troultlc  "  ('  iiioucy  trouble  he  meant,'  said  Lord  I irougliton),  "  I 
came  into  the  room  and  went  up  to  the  fire.  She  was  standing 
bufVue  it,  and  said,  '  Am  I  in  your  way?'  I  answered,  '  Yes, 
you  arc  ! '  with  emphasis.  She  burst  into  tears  and  lel't  the 
room.  I  hopped  up-stairs  as  quickly  as  I  could  "  ('  Poor  fel- 
low !' said  Lord  Broughton,  'you  know  how  lame  he  was') 
"  and  begged  her  pardon  most  humbly  ;  and  that  was  the  only 
time  I  spoke  really  harshly  to  her." ' 

"  Lord  Broughton  laid  great  stress  on  the  words  '  most  hum- 
bly.' He  spoke  of  Lord  Byron  with  pity  and  tenderness,  and 
evidently  believed  in  what  he  told  him." 

We  have  ourselves  received  the  same  account,  in  all  its  ma- 
terial facts,  from  Lord  Broughton,  through  a  channel  of  the 
highest  and  most  unimpeachable  character.  Indeed  he  made 
no  secret  either  of  his  own  inability  to  obtain  any  specific 
charge,  or  of  his  perfect  belief  in  Lord  Byron's  sincerity.  But 
the  evidence  does  not  stop  here.  Mr  Murray,  the  son  and  suc- 
cessor of  Lord  Byron's  friend  and  publisher,  has  given  to  the 
public  a  more  formal  and  absolutely  conclusive  testimony  to 
the  fact. 

"  The  following  document  is  printed  as  a  contribution  to 
literary  histoiy.  It  was  drawn  up  by  Lord  Byron  in  August 
1817,  while  Mr  Hobhouse  was  staying  with  him  at  La  Mira, 
near  Venice,  and  given  to  JMr  Matthew  Gregory  Lewis  for 
circulation  among  friends  in  England.  It  Mas  found  amongst 
IVIr  Lewis's  papers  after  his  death,  and  is  now  in  the  possession 
of  Mr  Murray. 

"  The  document  speaks  for  itself  sufficiently  to  need  no  com- 
ment on  our  part. 

"  It  has  been  intimated  to  me,  that  the  persons  understood  to 
he  the  legal  advisers  of  Lady  Byron  have  declared  '  their  lips  to 
he  scaled  up  '  on  the  cause  of  the  sejMratimi  hetween  her  and  my- 
self. If  their  lips  arc  sealed  up,  they  arc  not  scaled  up  by  vie, 
and  the  greatest  favour  they  can  confer  upon  me  will  he  to  open 
them.  From  the  first  hour  in  which  I  was  apprised  of  the  in- 
tentions of  the  Noel  family,  to  the  last  communication  hetween 


LORD    BYRON    AND    IIIS    CALUMNIATORS.  303 

Lady  Byron  and  myself  in  the  character  of  wife  and  husband 
{a  period  of  some  montlis),  I  called  rejicatedly  and  in  vain  for 
a  statement  of  their  or  her  charycs ;  and  it  teas  chvfly  in  conse- 
quence of  Lady  Byron  s  claiminy  {in  a  letter  still  existing)  a 
jrromise  on  my  part  to  consent  to  a  separation  if  such  xcas  really 
lier  U'ish,  that  I  consented  at  all.  This  claim,  and  the  exasperai- 
ing  and  incxpiahle  manner  in  which  their  object  was  pursued, 
which  rendered  it  neo:t  to  an  impossibility  that  two  persons  so 
divided  could  ever  be  reunited,  induced  me  reluctantly  then,  and 
repientantly  still,  to  sign  the  deed,  which  I  shcdl  be  happy — most 
happy — to  cancel,  and  go  before  any  tribunal  which  may  discuss 
the  business  in  the  most  public  manner. 

"Mr  Uobhouse  made  this  proposition  on  my  part — viz.,  to 
abrogate  all  prior  intentions,  and  go  into  Court — the  veinj  day 
before  the  sejjaration  was  signed,  and  it  was  declined  by  the  other 
p)arty,  as  also  the  jJublication  of  the  correspondence  during  the 
irrevious  discussion.  Those  propositions  I  beg  here  to  repeat, 
and  to  call  upon  her  and  hers  to  say  their  worst,  pledging  my- 
self to  meet  their  allegations — whatever  they  may  be — and 
only  too  happy  to  be  informed  at  last  of  their  real  nature. 

(Signed)     "  Byron. 

"  August  0,  1817. 

"  P.S. — I  have  been,  and  am  noio,  utterly  ignorant  of  what 
descrijJtion  her  cdlegations,  charges,  or  whatever  name  they  may 
have  assumed,  are;  and  am  as  little  aware  for  rvhat  jJurpose 
they  have  been  kept  back — sinless  it  vxis  to  sanction  the  most 
infamous  calumnies  by  silence. 

(Signed)     "  Byron. 

"  La  Mira,  near  Venice."  ^ 

The  attempts  that  have  been  made  to  obtain  conrmnation 
of  Mrs  Stowe's  story  by  identifying  Lord  liyron  with  Manfred, 
are  too  childish  to  deserve  a  serious  answer.  Did  anybody  ever 
charge  on  Massinger  the  crimes  of  Mallefort,  or  on  Otway  the 
abominations  of  Polydore  ?  It  may  be  well  for  the  memory  of 
Shakespeare  that  his  wife  survived  him,  and  that  the  critics 
have  been  left  to  contend  amongst  themselves  whether  his 

'  Aeadcmy,  No.  L 


304  \  INDICATIONS. 

bequest  to  her  ul'  liis  "  .seeoiul-be.st  Ijed  "  was  a  studied  insult, 
implying  that  some  one  else  had  shared  the  best,  or  whether 
it  was  an  indication  of  tender  aflection,  that  particular  piece 
of  furniture  being  endeared  to  him  by  the  recollection  of  the 
chaste  loves  of  their  early  life ;  otherwise  some  wiseacres 
might  have  identified  him  with  Othello,  with  just  as  good 
ground  as  it  is  now  sought  to  identify  ]>yron  with  Manfred. 

It  remains  to  say  a  few  words  on  the  culpable  recklessness 
that  ]\Irs  Stowe  has  shown  in  making  assertions  which  a 
reference  to  the  most  ordinary  authority  would  have  shown  her 
were  altogether  erroneous. 

We  will  select  a  few  examples  : — 

At  p.  389  she  speaks  of  Lady  Byron's  manied  life  as  extend- 
ing over  a  period  of  "  two  years." 

The  marriage  took  place  on  the  2d  January  1815  ;  Lady 
Byron  left  her  home  on  the  15th  January  181G — exactly  one 
year  and  thirteen  days  after  her  marriage. 

At  page  394  she  speaks  of  the  "  few  years  "  after  Lord  By- 
ron's death,  during  which  "the  life  of  tliis  frail  delicate  creature" 
(Lady  Byron)  "  upon  earth  was  a  miracle  of  mingled  weakness 
and  strength." 

Lord  B}Ton  died  in  1824,  and  Lady  Byron  in  1860,  so  that 
the  "  few  years  "  of  her  widowhood  were  thiity-six — exactly 
equal  to  the  whole  life  of  her  husband  ! 

At  page  393  Mrs  Stowe  asserts  that  Lady  Byron's  daughter 
"  married  a  man  of  fashion,  and  ran  a  brilliant  course  as  a  gay 
woman  of  fashion."  The  husband  of  Lady  Byron's  daughter  is 
well  known  as  a  man  of  extensive  reading,  fond  of  literary 
and  scientific  inquiries,  and  of  the  society  of  men  eminent  in 
such  pursuits.  He  would  probably  smile  at  finding  a  character 
ascribed  to  him  which  he  has  certainly  never  publicly  shown 
any  ambition  of  assuming.  Perhaps  a  similarity  of  name  may 
have  led  Mrs  Stowe  to  confound  the  Earl  of  Lovelace  with  the 
hero  of  Eichardson's  famous  novel ! 

At  page  389  Mrs  Stowe  says  that  "  iMoore  tells  us  that  about 
this  time  "  {i.  e.,  shortly  before  the  separation)  "  Byron  was  often 
drunk  day  after  day  wdth  Sheridan." 

Moore  tells  us  nothing  of  the  kind.     The  only  shadow  of 


LORD    BYRON   AND    HIS    CALUMNIATORS.  305 

foundatiuii  for  this  reckless  assertion  is  a  letter  from  Byi'on  to 
Moore,  dated  Oct.  31,  1815,  in  which  he  gives  an  account  of  a 
party  at  which  Sheridan  got  drunk,  and  DougLas  Kinnaird  and 
Byron  had  to  conduct  him  "  doM'n  a  d d  corkscrew  stair- 
case, which  had  certainly  been  constructed  before  the  discovery 
of  fermented  liquors,  and  to  which  no  legs,  however  crooked, 
could  possibly  accommodate  themselves."  "We  deposited  him," 
says  Lord  Byron,  "  safe  at  home,  where  his  man,  evidently  used 
to  the  business,  waited  to  receive  him  in  the  hall."  Pretty 
good  proof  that,  though  Sheridan  vjas,  Byron  was  not  drunk, 
even  though  he  "  carried  away  much  wine,"  and  "  his  last  hour 
or  so  was  all  hiccup  and  happiness." 

The  slightest  care,  or  reference  to  the  commonest  authorities, 
would  have  prevented  these  misstatements,  had  there  been  any 
desire  on  the  part  of  Mrs  Stowe  to  obsei-ve  truth  or  accuracy. 
But  far  worse  is  the  garbling  of  the  account  of  the  deathbed  of 
Lord  Byron,  and  of  his  last  words  to  his  faithful  servant,  Flet- 
cher. Mrs  Stowe  must  have  had  the  only  authentic  account 
(that  given  by  Parry,  and  printed  in  Moore's  '  Life  of  Byron ') 
before  her ;  and  it  seems  impossible  that  the  suggcstio  falsi, 
no  less  than  the  suppressio  vcri,  of  which  she  has  been  guilty, 
should  be  otherwise  than  wilful  and  deliberate. 

We  now  come  to  the  consideration  of  the  second  count  of 
Mrs  Stowe's  indictment. 

The  charge  now  shapes  itself  as  follows :  That  having  mar- 
ried Miss  Milbanke,  in  the  hope  that  she  would  be  "  the  cloak 
and  accomplice "  of  an  abominable  crime,  Lord  Byron  forth- 
with, even  between  the  solemnisation  and  the  consummation  of 
their  union,  began  to  treat  her  with  the  vulgar  brutality  of  a 
drunken  costermonger,  and  continued  that  course  of  conduct 
up  to  the  time  of  their  separation. 

Here  again  Lady  Byron  is  the  only  witness.  What  is  her 
testimony  worth  ?  First,  let  us  apply  the  fourth  principle 
which  we  have  laid  down.  AVe  have  shown  conclusively  that 
her  evidence  is  utterly  unworthy  of  belief  as  to  the  i)rincipal 
charge.  It  follows  that  it  is  equally  worthless  to  establish  the 
minor  oll'oncc.  It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  after  the  lapse  of 
fifty-three  years,  living  testimony  should  be  at  hand  to  show  on 

U 


3()()  VINDICATIONS. 

what  terms  a  particular  married  couple  lived  with  eacli  other ; 
yet  it  does  happen  that  in  this  case  there  is  even  at  this  period 
sufficient  to  sliow  the  absurdity  of  the  charge.^ 

The  marriage  took  place  on  the  2d  January.  After  spending 
about  three  weeks  at  Halnaby,  Lord  and  Lady  Byron  returned 
to  Seaham,  where  they  remained  until  the  9th  of  March  with 
Sir  Ifalph  and  Lady  Noel.  It  was  during  tliis  time  that  Lord 
Byi'on  wrote  the  letters  whicli  we  quoted  in  a  former  article,^ 
which  negative  in  the  clearest  manner  the  idea  of  any  dis- 
comfort having  existed  at  that  time.  We  distinctly  challenge 
the  advocates  of  Lady  Byron  to  produce  a  single  particle  of 
contemporaneous  evidence  from  her  correspondence  to  the  con- 
trary. The  ridiculous  story  whicli  Mrs  Stowe  quotes  from 
another  scandalous  female  pen,  of  Lady  Byron  having  alighted 
from  the  carriage  on  her  wedding-day  "  with  a  countenance  and 
frame  agonised  and  listless  with  evident  horror  and  despair," 
has  been  distinctly  negatived  by  her  own  maid,  who  was  with 
her,  who  is  still  living,  and  who,  though  she  certainly  entertains 
no  friendly  feeling  towards  Lord  Byron,  states  that  she  saw  the 
bride  alight  from  the  carriage  "  buoyant  and  happy  as  a  bride 
should  be."  3 

Thackeray  has  often  remarked  on  the  ordeal  which  a  man  has 
to  undergo  from  the  inquisitor  who  stands  behind  his  chair  at 
dinner,  and  the  jury  w^ho  sit  upon  his  character  in  the  servants' 
hall.  Mrs  Stowe's  "True  Story"  has  aroused  one  of  these 
keen  observers  to  denounce  its  falsehood.  Mr  William  Child, 
who  has  addressed  a  letter  to  the  editor  of  the  '  Daily  Tele- 
graph,' was  a  servant  at  Newstead,  where  his  aunt  was  house- 
keeper from  the  year  1800  until  Lord  Byron  sold  the  estate, 
when  he  continued  in  the  service  of  Colonel  Wildman  as  game- 
keeper. He  has  exchanged  the  perilous  duty  of  maintaining 
nightly  combats  with  the  poachers  of  Nottingham,  in  the  wilds 
of  Sherwood  Forest,  for  the  more  peaceful  occupation  of  repre- 
senting the  majesty  of  the  law,  and  striking  terror  into  the 
souls  of  unruly  urchins  in  Golden  Square,  where  he  enjoys  an 
old  age  which  is  "  like  a  lusty  winter,  frosty  but  kindly." 

1  See  Postscript,  p.  311.  -  Ante,  p.  267. 

^  See  Statement  of  Mrs  Minns,  Newcastle  Chronicle,  1869. 


LORD    BYRON    AND    HIS    CALUMNIATORS.  307 

We  have  ourselves  conversed  with  this  "  honest  chronicler," 
and  can  bear  witness  to  the  indignation  witli  which  he  repu- 
diates the  slanders  on  his  master,  and  the  warmth  and  earnest- 
ness with  which  he  expatiates  on  his  generosity  and  kindness 
to  every  one  around  him  (including  the  dumb  animals  which 
formed  a  part  of  his  establishment),  and  every  quality  the  very 
reverse  of  what  Mrs  Stowe  would  have  us  believe  constituted 
his  character.  It  is  well  worthy  of  note  also,  as  confirming  the 
peculiar  weakness  of  Byi-on  (a  weakness  which  he  shared  with 
many,  and  amongst  them  with  one  of  the  best  men  and  best 
judges  that  ever  adorned  the  English  bench)  to  indulge  in  the 
"fanfaronnade  des  vices  qu'il  n'avait  pas,"  that  he  utterly  denies 
the  debaucheries  of  which  Newstead  is  supposed  to  have  been 
the  scene,  and  which  are  so  vividly  portrayed  in  the  opening 
stanzas  of  "  Childe  Harold,"  but  which  he  declares  had  no  ex- 
istence except  in  the  imagination  of  the  poet. 

When  Dr  Ireland,  the  Dean  of  Westminster,  and  annotator 
of  Massinger,  refused  to  admit  the  statue  of  Byron,  which  now 
adorns  the  library  of  Trinity  College,  to  the  sanctuary  of  the 
Abbey,  on  the  ground  that  the  poet  was  too  impure  and  pro- 
fane to  be  fit  company  for  Dryden  and  Congreve  ;  and  when 
the  Bishop  of  London  backed  the  intolerance  of  the  Dean  in 
defiance  of  the  protest  of  hundreds,  amongst  whom  were  men 
eminent  no  less  for  their  spotless  character  than  for  their  bril- 
liant abilities  and  high  position — of  Scott,  of  Peel,  of  Rogers, 
Campbell,  Moore,  Brougham,  Denman,  ]\Iacintosh,  Jeffrey, Lock- 
hart,  the  Dukes  of  Bedford  and  Devonshire,  and  many  more — 
the  late  Lord  Broughton,  then  Sir  John  Cam  Hobhouse,  in  a 
few  eloquent  and  indignant  pages,  gave  expression  to  the  feel- 
ings of  indignation  which  such  a  display  of  narrowness  and 
bigotry  was  well  calculated  to  excite.  Now  if  any  man  was 
qualified  to  judge  fairly  of  the  character  of  Lord  Byron,  Lord 
Broughton  was  that  man.  He  was  the  chosen  comrade  of  his 
youth,  the  companion  of  his  early  travel,  tlic  associate  of  his 
short  and  l)rilliant  career  of  popularity,  and  his  steadfast  friend 
when  the  tide  turned  and  the  unreasoning  world  sought  to  over- 
whelm him  with  obloquy.  Upon  Lord  Broughton's  own  char- 
acter, public  or  private,  no  breath  of  shuider  has  ever  rested. 


308  VIN'IUCAIIONS. 

lie,  w'.is  a  keen  and  experienced  ob8ei*vei  ol  men.  He  writes, 
not  in  the  fervour  of  youtli  or  under  the  impulse  of  feelings 
excited  by  a  recent  event,  but  at  the  mature  age  of  fifty-eight, 
and  when  twenty  years  had  passed  since  the  death  of  Lord 
Byron,  and,  be  it  remembered,  with  a  full  knowledge  of  the 
contents  of  the  suppressed  Memoirs  ;  and  here  is  his  testimony 
to  what  he  was  : — 

"  Lord  Byron  had  hard  measure  dealt  to  him  in  his  lifetime, 
but  he  did  not  die  without  leaving  behind  him  friends — 
deeply  and  affectionately  attached  friends — whom  the  bishop 
himself  would  despise  if  they  suffered  this  attack  to  pass 
unnoticed.  Those  friends,  however,  do  not  prefer  their  late 
much-loved  associate  to  truth — they  would  not  sacrifice  the 
best  interests  of  society  at  the  shrine  even  of  his  surpassing 
fame.  They  were  not  blind  to  the  defects  of  his  character, 
nor  of  his  writings,  but  they  know  that  some  of  the  gravest 
accusations  levelled  against  him  had  no  foundation  in  fact ; 
and  perhaps  the  time  may  come  when  justice  may  be  done  to 
the  dead  without  injury  to  the  feelings  of  the  living.  Even 
now  it  may  be  permitted  to  say  something  of  him,  and  it 
will  be  said  by  one  who  perhaps  knew  him  as  well  as  he  was 
known  by  any  human  being. 

"  Lord  Byron  had  failings — many  failings,  certainly — but 
ho  was  untainted  with  any  of  the  baser  vices  ;  and  his  virtues 
— his  good  qualities — were  all  of  the  higher  order.  He  was 
honourable  and  open  in  all  his  dealings ;  he  was  generous,  and 
he  was  kind.  He  was  affected  by  the  distress,  and,  rarer  still, 
he  was  pleased  with  the  prosperity  of  others.  Tender-hearted 
he  was  to  a  degree  not  usual  with  our  sex,  and  he  shrank  with 
feminine  sensibility  from  the  sight  of  cruelty.  He  was  tnie- 
spoken — he  was  affectionate — he  was  very  brave,  if  that  be 
any  praise ;  but  his  courage  was  not  the  effect  of  physical 
coolness  or  indifference  to  danger ;  on  the  contrary,  he  enter- 
tained apprehensions  and  adopted  precautious,  of  which  he 
made  no  secret  and  was  by  no  means  ashamed.  His  calmness 
and  presence  of  mind  in  the  hour  of  peril  were  the  offspring  of 
reflection,  and  of  a  fixed  resolution  to  act  becomingly  and  well. 


LORD    BYRON    AND    HIS    CALUMNIATORS.  309 

He  was  aKve  to  every  indication  of  good  feeeling  in  others ;  a 
generous  or  noble  sentiment,  a  trait  of  tenderness  or  devotion, 
not  only  in  real  but  in  imaginary  characters,  affected  him 
deeply — even  to  tears.  He  was,  both  by  his  habits  and  his 
nature,  incapable  of  any  mean  compliance,  any  undue  submis- 
sion towards  those  who  command  reverence  and  exact  tlattery 
from  men  of  the  highest  genius ;  and  it  will  be  the  eternal 
praise  of  his  writings,  as  it  was  one  of  the  merits  of  his  con- 
versation, that  he  threw  no  lustre  on  any  exploit  however 
brilliant,  any  character  however  exalted,  which  had  not  con- 
tributed to  the  happiness  or  welfare  of  mankind. 

"  Lord  Byron  was  totally  free  from  envy  and  from  jealousy, 
and  both  in  public  and  in  private,  spoke  of  the  literary  merits 
of  his  contemporaries  in  terms  which  did  justice  to  them  and 
Jionour  to  himself.  He  was  well  aware  of  his  own  great 
reputation  ;  but  he  was  neither  vainglorious  nor  overbearing, 
nor  attached  to  his  productions  even  that  value  which  was 
universally  granted  to  them,  and  which  they  will  probably  for 
ever  maintain. 

"  Of  his  lesser  qualities  very  little  need  be  said,  because  his 
most  inveterate  detractors  have  done  justice  to  his  powers  of 
pleasing,  and  to  the  irresistible  charm  of  his  general  deport- 
ment. There  was  indeed  something  about  him  not  to  be 
definitely  described,  but  almost  universally  felt,  which  cap- 
tivated those  around  him,  and  impressed  them,  in  spite  of 
occasional  distrust,  witli  an  attachment  not  only  friendly,  but 
fixed.  Part  of  this  fascination  may  doubtless  be  ascribed  to 
the  entire  self-abandonment,  the  incautious,  it  may  be  said  the 
dangerous,  sincerity  of  his  private  conversation ;  but  his  very 
weaknesses  were  amiable,  and,  as  has  been  said  of  a  portion  of 
his  virtues,  were  of  a  feminine  character — so  that  the  affection 
felt  for  him  was  as  that  fur  a  ffivourite  and  sometimes  froward 
sister. 

"  In  mixed  society  Lord  Byron  was  not  talkative,  neither 
did  he  attempt  to  surprise  by  pointed  or  by  liumorous  re- 
marks ;  but  in  all  companies  lie  held  his  own,  and  that,  too, 
without  unbecoming  rivalry  with  liis  seniors  in  ago  and 
reputation,  and  without  any  offensive  condescension  towards 


310  VINDICATIONS. 

his  inferior  associates.  In  more  familiar  intercourse  he  was  a 
gay  companion  and  a  free,  but  never  trasgressed  the  bounds 
of  good-breeding  even  for  a  moment.  Indeed  he  was,  in  the 
best  sense  of  the  word,  a  gentleman." — '  liemarks  on  tlie 
Exclusion  of  Lord  Byron's  Monument  from  Westminster 
Abbey/  42. 

To  add  to  this  testimony  would  be  but  to  weaken  its  effect. 
Such  was  Lord  Byron.  The  time  (anticipated  by  Lord 
Broughton)  when  justice  could  be  done  to  the  dead  has 
arrived,  though  in  a  mode  that  could  little  be  expected.  The 
attempt  to  give  form  and  substance  to  the  foul  calumnies 
which  have  for  half  a  century  been  floating  about  the  world 
against  Lord  Byron  has  ended  in  their  complete  and  trium- 
phant refutation.  The  character  of  ^Irs  Leigh  stands  forth 
pure  and  unsullied.  As  to  IMrs  Stowe,  one  universal  cry  of 
indignation  has  arisen  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  All  who 
glory  in  the  fame  of  Byron — all  who  revere  the  memory  of 
Mrs  Leigh — all,  and  they  were  not  few,  who  were  attached  by 
the  ties  of  friendship  to  Lady  Byron  herself — all  who  would 
guard  the  purity  of  home  from  pollution,  and  the  sanctity  of  the 
grave  from  outrage — have  joined  in  one  unanimous  chorus  of 
condemnation.  With  regard  to  Lady  Byron,  who  shall  read  the 
riddle  which  her  conduct  now  presents  ?  Did  she  believe  the 
hideous  tale  she  told  ?  Was  she  the  ^vilful  fabricator  of  the 
monstrous  calumny,  or  was  she  herself  the  victim  of  insane 
delusions  ?  Is  her  memory  to  be  regarded  with  the  deepest 
abhorrence  or  the  most  profound  compassion?  These  are 
questions  to  which  it  is  impossible  at  present  to  give  a  satis- 
factory answer.  It  may  be  that  the  reply  is  to  be  found 
amongst  the  papers  left  behind  by  herself.  Whether  those  to 
whom  they  are  intrusted  will  make  them  public  we  know  not. 
Till  then,  though  the  questions  most  interesting  to  the  public 
are  set  at  rest  for  ever,  the  "  Byron  mystery "  is  not  com- 
pletely solved. 


311 


POSTSCRIPT. 


Since  the  publication  of  the  foregoing  pages,  a  valuable 
addition  has  been  made  to  the  materials  for  estimating  the 
character  of  Lord  Byron,  by  the  appearance  of  '  The  Literary 
Life  of  the  Piev.  William  Harness,  Vicar  of  All  Saints,  Knights- 
bridge,' and  Prebendary  of  St  Paul's.    1871.' 

Mr  Harness  was  born  in  the  year  1790,  being  thus  two 
years  younger  than  Lord  Byron.  Their  intimacy  and  mutual 
affection  commenced  when  they  were  schoolfellows  at  Harrow, 
and  continued  uninterrupted,  except  by  a  short  boyish  mis- 
understanding, until  Lord  Byron  left  England  in  181G. 

When  Harness  arrived  at  Harrow,  he  was  recovering  from 
an  attack  of  fever,  and  he  was  lame  in  consequence  of  an 
accident  which  happened  in  his  early  childhood,  and  from  the 
effects  of  which  he  never  entirely  recovered.  He  says :  "  This 
dilapidated  condition  of  mine — perhaps  my  lameness  more 
than  anything  else — seems  to  have  touched  Byron's  sympa- 
thies. He  saw  me  a  stranger  in  a  crowd ;  the  veiy  person 
likely  to  tempt  the  oppression  of  a  bully,  as  I  was  utterly 
incapable  of  resisting  it ;  and  in  all  the  kindness  of  his  gene- 
rous nature,  he  took  me  under  his  charge.  The  first  words  he 
ever  spoke  to  me,  as  far  as  I  can  recollect  them,  were :  '  If 
any  fellow  bullies  you,  tell  me,  and  I'll  thrash  him  if  I  can.' 
His  protection  was  not  long  needed  ;  I  was  soon  strong  again, 
and  able  to  maintain  my  own ;  but  as  long  as  his  help  was 
wanted,  he  never  failed  to  render  it."  ^ 

Such  was  the  commencement  of  the  friendship  between  two 
men  whose  dispositions  and  whose  careers  in  life  were  singu- 
larly dissimilar. 

'  r.  4. 


312  VINDICATIONS. 

Mr  Harness  took  orders,  discharged  the  duties  c>l  a  parish 
clergyman,  first  in  a  remote  part  of  tlie  country,  and  lattorly 
in  a  populous  London  district,  in  a  most  exemplary  manner. 
lie  acquired  some  literary  distinction,  enjoyed  a  social  reputa- 
tion of  a  high  class,  and  died  in  the  year  18G9,  within  a  few 
months  of  the  age  of  eighty,  after  a  long,  peaceful,  and  un- 
eventful life,  the  object  of  respect  and  affection  to  every  one 
who  knew  him.  Mr  Harness's  attachment  to  Lord  Byron  was 
personal:  it  arose  from  aff'ection  for  his  character,  not  from 
admiration  for  his  genius.  He  belonged  to  a  different  school, 
and  did  not  scruple  to  speak  with  considerable  severity  on 
what  he  considered  the  pernicious  tendency  of  the  works  of 
tlie  2>oet,  but  his  affection  for  the  man  never  waned.  He  says: 
"  Wliatever  faults  Lord  Byron  might  have  had  towards  others, 
to  myself  he  was  always  uniformly  affectionate.  I  have  many 
slights  and  neglects  towards  him  to  reproach  myself  with  ; 
but  on  his  part  I  cannot  call  to  mind,  during  the  whole  course 
of  our  intimacy,  a  single  instance  of  caprice  or  unkindness." 
Mr  Harness  was  a  visitor  at  Newstead  during  Lord  Byron's 
residence  there.  He  says :  "  Many  tales  are  related  or  fabled  of 
the  orgies  which,  in  the  poet's  early  youth,  had  made  clamorous 
those  ancient  halls  of  the  Byrons.  I  can  only  say  that  nothing 
in  the  shape  of  riot  or  excess  occurred  when  I  was  there."  ^ 

When  Byron  "  awoke  and  found  himself  famous,"  Harness 
was  residing  at  a  country  curacy ;  but  they  kept  up  a  constant 
correspondence  by  letters,  and,  during  Mr  Harness's  visits  to 
London,  passed  much  time  in  each  other's  society.  "  All  that 
I  saw  or  heard  of  his  career  was  bright  and  prosperous — kind- 
ness and  poetry  at  home,  smiles  and  adulation  abroad.  But 
then  came  his  marriage ;  and  then  the  rupture  with  liis  wife ; 
and  then  his  final  departure  from  England.  He  became  a 
victim  of  that  revolution  of  popular  feeling  which  is  ever  inci- 
dent to  the  spoUt  children  of  society,  when  envy  and  malice 
attain  a  temporary  ascendancy,  and  succeed  in  knocking  down 
and  trampling  any  idol  of  the  day  beneath  tlieir  feet,  who  may 
be  wanting  in  the  moral  courage  required  to  face  and  outbrave 
them."  - 

'  p.  12.  ^  r.  21. 


POSTSCRIPT.  313 

The  following  very  just  remarks  arc  added  at  a  subsequent 
page :  "  His  whole  course  of  conduct  at  this  crisis  of  his  life 
was  an  inconsiderate  mistake.  He  should  have  remained  to 
learn  what  the  accusations  against  him  really  were ;  to  expose 
the  exaggeration,  if  not  the  falsehood,  of  the  grounds  they 
rested  on ;  or  at  all  events  to  have  abided  the  time  when  the 
London  world  should  have  become  wearied  of  repeating  its 
vapid  scandals,  and  returned  to  its  senses  respecting  him." 
The  picture  which  Mr  Harness  draws  of  Lady  Byron  previous 
to  her  marriage  is  curious  and  interesting.  He  says  :  "  I  was 
acquainted  with  Lady  Byron  as  Miss  Milbanke.  The  parties 
of  Lady  Milbanke,  her  mother,  were  frequent  and  agreeable, 
and  composed  of  that  mixture  of  fashion,  literature,  science. 
and  art,  than  which  there  is  no  better  society.  The  daughter 
was  not  without  a  certain  amount  of  prettiness  or  cleverness  ; 
but  her  manner  was  stiff  and  formal,  and  gave  one  the  idea  of 
her  being  self-willed  and  self-opinionated.  She  was  almost 
the  only  young,  pretty,  well-dressed  girl  we  ever  saw  who 
carried  no  cheerfulness  along  with  her.  I  seem  to  see  her 
now,  moving  slowly  along  her  mother's  drawing-rooms  talk- 
ing to  scientific  men  and  literary  women,  without  a  tone  of 
emotion  in  her  voice,  or  the  faintest  glimpse  of  a  smile  upon 
her  countenance."  Mr  Harness  adds,  that  the  impression 
she  produced  on  the  majority  of  her  acquaintance  was  unfa- 
vourable. "  They  looked  upon  her  "  (he  says)  "  as  a  reserved 
and  frigid  sort  of  being  whom  one  would  rather  cross  the 
room  to  avoid  than  be  brought  into  conversation  with  unne- 
cessarily." ^ 

She  appears,  notwithstanding,  to  have  possessed  some 
strange  power  of  fascination  over  Lord  Byron.  "  At  the  begin- 
ning of  their  married  life,  when  first  they  returned  to  London 
society  together,  one  seldom  saw  two  young  persons  who  ap- 
peared to  be  more  devoted  to  one  another  than  they  were. 
At  parties  he  would  be  seen  hanging  over  the  back  of  her 
chair  scarcely  talking  to  any  one  else,  eagerly  introducing  his 
friends  to  her ;  and,  if  they  did  not  go  away  together,  himself 
handing  her  to  her  carriage."  ' 

»  r.  22.  -  P.  24. 


314  VINDICATIONS. 

To  the  generosity  of  liyron,  his  kindness  to  his  dependants 
(there  was  one  "  hideous  old  woman  "  who  had  nursed  him 
in  his  lodgings,  and  wliom  "  few  would  have  cared  to  retain 
about  them  longer  than  her  services  were  required,"  who 
appeared  after  his  marriage  "gorgeous  in  black  silk  at  his 
house  in  Piccadilly.  She  had  done  him  a  service,  and  he 
could  not  forget  it"),^  and  his  fidelity  to  his  friends,  Mr 
"Harness  bears  ample  testimony.  Speaking  of  the  other  side 
of  his  character,  he  says :  "  Byron  had  one  pre-eminent 
fault.  ...  He  had  a  morbid  love  of  a  bad  reputation. 
There  was  hardly  an  offence  of  which  he  would  not  with 
perfect  indifference  accuse  himself." — "  Except  this  love  of 
an  ill  name — this  tendency  to  malign  himself,  this  hypocrisy 
reversed — I  have  no  personal  knowledge  whatever  of  any 
evil  act  or  evil  disposition  of  Lord  Byron's.  I  once  said  this 
to  a  gentleman  (the  Eev.  Henry  Drury)  who  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  Lord  Byron's  London  life.  He  expressed  him- 
self astonished  at  w^hat  I  said.  '  Well,'  I  replied,  *  do  you 
know  any  harm  of  him  but  what  he  has  told  you  himself  ? ' 
'  Oh  yes,  a  hundred  things  ! '  'I  don't  want  you  to  tell  me  a 
hundred  things  ;  I  shall  be  content  with  one.'  Here  the  con- 
versation was  interrupted.  We  were  at  dinner  ;  there  was  a 
large  party,  and  the  subject  was  again  renewed  at  table.  But 
afterwards,  in  the  drawing-room,  ]\Ir  Drury  came  up  to  me 
and  said :  '  I  have  been  thinking  of  what  you  were  say- 
ing at  dinner.  I  do  not  know  any  harm  of  Byi'on  but  what  he 
has  told  me  himself.'  "  - 

Bitter  was  the  penalty  which  Lord  Byron  paid  for  this  im- 
fortunate  affectation.  When  dark  insinuations  and  foul  rumoure 
were  circulated  by  the  malice  of  Lady  Byron  and  her  friends, 
the  public  thought,  and  even  some  who  ought  from  their  ac- 
quaintance with  liis  character  to  have  known  better,  feared, 
that  there  might  be  some  foundation  for  the  accusation  against 
a  man  who  had  so  freely  maligned  liimseK. 

1  r.  29.  «  P.  34. 


JUDICIAL    PUZZLES 


I.  ELIZABETH   CANNING 
II.  THE  CAMPDEN  WONDER 

III.  THE  ANNESLEY   CASE 

IV.  ELIZA  PENNING 

V.  SrENCER  COWPERS'   CASE 


JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 


I. 

ELIZABETH    CANNING.^ 

Every  one  has  heard  of  the  case  of  Elizabeth  Canning.  It 
is  constantly  quoted,  constantly  relied  upon  as  an  authority 
for  propositions  the  most  diverse  and  even  contradictory.  There 
is  a  general  vague  idea  that  an  ingenious  fraud  was  by  some 
marvellous  agency  detected,  that  innocence  was  rescued  from 
imminent  peril,  and  truth  vindicated ;  but  by  what  means  or 
\inder  what  circumstances  this  took  place,  who  was  innocent 
and  who  was  guilty,  very  few  of  those  in  whose  mouths  the 
name  of  the  case  is  most  familiar  would  be  able  to  say.  T(j 
any  one  who  has  taken  the  pains  to  make  himself  master  of 
the  case,  this  hazy  condition  of  mind  will  be  anything  but  sur- 
prising. It  is,  in  truth,  perhaps,  the  most  complete  and  most 
inexplicable  Judicial  Puzzle  on  record ;  and  after  reading  four 
hundred  and  twenty-nine  pages  of  close  bad  print,  in  the  10th 
volume  of  the  '  State  Trials,'  a  candid  man  will  find  himself 
equally  amazed  at  the  zeal,  the  industry,  the  ingenuity,  with 
which  it  was  sought  to  discover  where  the  truth  really  lay;  and 
the  way  in  which,  notwithstanding  the  fullest  and  most  pa- 
tient inquiry,  that  truth,  though  apparently  close  at  hand,  still 
eluded  its  pursuers. 

Elizabeth  Canning  was  a  servant-girl  in  the  family  of  a  man 
of  the  name  of  Edward  Lyon,  a  carpenter  in  Aldermanbury. 

^  Blaikwood's  Magaziue,  May  1S60. 


318  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

At  the  time  in  question  (1753)  she  was  about  eighteen  years 
of  ago.  Her  father  had  during  his  lifetime  been  also  in  the 
employment  of  Mv  Lyon  ;  her  mother  resided  in  the  immediate 
neighbourliood.  She  had  previously  been  in  the  service  of 
another  neighbour  of  the  name  of  Wintlebury  for  nearly  two 
years :  there  was  every  opportunity  and  every  motive  for  tlie 
strictest  examination  of  her  character,  and  it  bore  the  investi- 
gation without  the  slightest  stain  being  detected.  On  the  1st 
of  January  1753,  her  mistress  gave  Elizabeth  Canning  permis- 
sion to  spend  the  day  with  an  uncle  of  the  name  of  Colley, 
who  lived  at  Saltpetre-Bank,  now  known  as  Dock  Street,  near 
Well-Close  Square,  and  immediately  behind  the  London 
Dock.  In  the  evening  Colley  and  his  wife  accompanied  her 
on  her  way  back  to  her  master's  in  Aldermanbury  as  far  as 
Houndsditch,  where  they  parted  from  her  soon  after  nine 
o'clock.  At  this  point  she  was  lost  sight  of.  She  did  not  re- 
turn to  her  master's,  nor  to  her  mother.  The  surprise,  alarm, 
and  anxiety  of  her  friends  were  extreme.  Advertisements  were 
repeatedly  inserted  in  the  papers,  offering  rewards  for  her  dis- 
covery. It  was  said  that  a  shriek  had  been  heard,  as  of  some 
female  in  distress,  in  a  hackney-coach  in  Bishopsgate  Street, 
and  attempts  were  made  to  find  the  driver,  but  in  vain.  No 
trace  of  the  lost  girl  could  be  discovered.  On  the  29th  of  Jan- 
uary, about  a  quarter  after  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  just  as 
they  were  preparing  to  fasten  up  the  house,  and  to  go  to  bed, 
the  latch  of  her  mother's  door  was  lifted,  and  a  figure  entered, 
pale,  tottering,  emaciated,  livid,  bent  almost  double,  with  no 
clothes  but  her  shift,  a  ^^Tetched  petticoat,  and  a  filthy  bed- 
gown, a  rag  tied  over  her  head,  bloody  from  a  wound  on  her 
ear.  Such  was  the  condition  in  which  Elizabeth  Carming  re- 
turned after  an  absence  of  four  weeks.  Where  had  she  been  ? 
what  had  happened  to  her  during  those  weeks  ? 

The  first  question  which  presents  itself  is,  What  was  the 
account  given  by  the  girl  herself  ?  Then  follows  the  inquiry 
how  far  that  accoimt  is  supported,  or  in  what  respects  is  it 
contradicted,  by  evidence  subsequently  produced  ?  As  we  pro- 
ceed, we  shall  find  ourselves  involved  in  a  most  perplexing  and 
difficult  investigation,  but  for  the  present  we  may  confine  our 


ELIZABETH    CANNING.  319 

attention  to  Canning's  own  account.  It  was  given  in  the  pre- 
sence of  many  witnesses,  without  apparent  preparation  or  con- 
cert with  any  one — indeed  there  was  no  time  for  this,  as, 
immediately  upon  her  arrival,  the  neighbours  flocked  in  to 
express  their  sympathy  and  satisfy  their  curiosity.  Few 
minutes  had  elapsed  before  the  house  was  full. 

Her  former  master,  Mr  Wintlebury  (who  seems  to  have  had 
a  very  kindly  feeling  towards  her,  and  who  gave  her  the 
highest  character),  was  among  them ;  another  neighbour,  of 
the  name  of  Robert  Scarratt,  was  also  there,  and  many 
more.  The  statement  made  by  Canning  in  reply  to  their  in- 
quiries was,  that  as  she  passed  through  Moorfields,  after  part- 
ing from  her  uncle  and  aunt,  she  was  attacked  by  two  men, 
who  robbed  her  of  what  money  she  had  about  her,  stripped  off 
her  gown,  and  struck  her  a  blow  which  rendered  her  insen- 
sible. That  when  she  came  to  herself,  she  found  that  she  Mas 
being  dragged  along  a  road ;  that  about  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  they  arrived  at  a  house,  into  which  she  was  carried 
by  these  two  men  ;  "  when  she  came  in,  there  was  an  elderly 
woman  and  two  young  ones  :  the  old  woman  took  hold  of  her 
arm  and  asked  if  she  would  go  their  way  ?  and  she  said  No. 
Then  she  went  and  took  a  knife  out  of  a  drawer,  and  cut  the 
lacing  of  her  stays  and  took  them  off,  and  gave  her  a  great  slap 
in  the  face,  and  told  her  she  should  suffer  in  the  flesh,  and 
opened  a  door,  and  shoved  her  up  a  pair  of  stairs  into  a  room."  ^ 
This  room  she  described  as  a  "lougish,  darkish  room,"-  in 
which  there  was  some  hay,^  a  pitcher  of  water,  some  pieces  of 
bread, — about  as  much  as  would  be  equal  in  quantity  to  a 
quartern  loaf ;  that  there  was  a  fireplace  and  a  grate,  out  of 
which  she  took  the  bedgown  she  had  on,  and  the  rag  which 
was  tied  over  her  head  ;  that  there  was  a  cask,  a  saddle,  a 
pewter  basin,  and  a  few  other  articles,  which  she  specified,  in 
the  room ;  that  the  house  was  ten  or  eleven  mUes  from  London 
on  the  Hertfordshire  road  ;  that  there  was  a  staircase  near  the 
room,  up  and  down  which  she  heard  persons  passing  during 
the  night ;  and  that  she  had  heard  "  the  name  of  Mother  WUls 

1  Eviilciice  of  Mary  Myers,  10  State  Trials,  504. 

2  Scarrutt,  490-5U1.  ^  Myers,  505. 


320  JUDICIAL    IMIZZLKH. 

or  Mother  Wells  mentioned."  Wlietlicr  tliis  last  statement 
as  to  the  name  of  Wells  was  made  in  reply  to  a  suggestion  or 
not,  is,  however,  doubtful, — Scarratt  stating  that  it  was  in  rejily 
to  an  expression  used  by  him  when  he  heard  she  had  been  on 
the  Hertfordshire  road,  that  he  would  "  lay  a  guinea  to  a  far- 
thing she  had  been  at  Mother  Wells's  ; " '''  whilst  Mary  Myers 
states  that  Canning  had  mentioned  the  name  of  Wells  to  her 
before  Scarratt  spoke,  and  that  if  Scarratt  had  spoken  previously 
she  must  have  heard  him.^  She  certainly  said  she  had  been 
confined  in  a  room  on  the  Hertfordshire  road  before  any  sug- 
gestion had  been  made  to  her  ; ''  and  when  asked  "  how  she 
knew  that  ? "  accounted  for  it  by  saying  that  she  had  seen, 
through  the  crevices  of  the  boards  which  were  nailed  over  the 
window,  a  coachman,  to  whom  she  had  been  accustomed  to 
carry  parcels  for  her  master  addressed  to  Hertford,  and  by 
whose  coach  her  mistress  had  been  in  the  habit  of  travelling, 
drive  past  the  house.  She  said,  that  after  remaining  confined 
in  this  room,  with  no  other  food  than  the  bread  and  water,  and 
a  minced  pie  which  she  happened  to  have  in  her  pocket,  from 
the  1st  of  January  till  the  29th,  she  escaped  out  at  the  win- 
dow by  pulling  some  of  the  boards  down,  and  in  doing  so  tore 
her  ear.^  She  described  the  woman  who  robbed  her  of  her 
stays  as  a  "  tall,  black,  swarthy  woman."  '^  Scarratt,  whose 
suspicions  had,  as  we  have  seen,  pointed  at  Wells,  immediately 
observed  that  "  that  description  did  not  answer  to  her."  ^  She 
then  described  very  particularly  the  course  she  took  tlirough 
the  fields,  past  a  tanyard  and  over  a  little  bridge  into  the  high- 
road, after  making  her  escape  through  the  window.  This  des- 
cription was,  however,  given  in  reply  to  leading  questions  put 
by  Scarratt ;  but  it  is  worthy  of  remark  that  she  said  she  met 
a  man,  and  asked  her  road  to  London,^ — a  fact  which,  as  we 
shall  presently  see,  was  subsequently  confirmed  by  the  evi- 
dence of  a  witness  of  the  name  of  Bennett.^ 

Such  in  substance  was  the  account  given  by  Elizabeth  Can- 

1  Jlyers,  505.  ^  Scarratt,  495. 
3  Myers,  505 ;  Wintlebury,  510. 

*  "Woodward,  507  ;  Wiiitlebmy,  510.  ^  Myere,  505. 

6  Woodward,  508 ;  Scarratt,  496.  ^  Scarratt,  496. 

8  Scarratt,  496.  »  Bennett,  527. 


ELIZABETH   CANNING.  321 

ning  on  the  evening  of  the  29th  of  January.  Is  it  matter  of 
surprise  that  such  a  story,  told  by  a  young  girl  at  the  moment 
of  her  restoration  to  her  family,  spoken  in  the  starts  and 
snatches  of  extreme  debility  and  exhaustion,  attested  by  her 
emaciated  form,  her  pallid  cheek,  her  numb  and  withered 
limbs,  should  find  deep  sympathy  and  ready  belief  from  those 
wlio  had  known  her  from  childhood,  wlio  had  listened  day  by 
day,  for  four  weeks,  to  the  lamentations  of  her  mother,  and 
who  had  felt,  as  every  day  passed,  their  hopes  grow  fainter, 
and  their  fears  assume  more  and  more  the  aspect  of  certainty  ? 
And  after  all,  is  there  such  improbability  on  the  face  of  the 
story  as  should  induce  us  even  now  to  reject  it  as  incredible  ? 
The  robbery  in  Moorfields  was  the  ujost  probable  of  occur- 
rences. It  is  impossible  to  take  up  a  newspaper  of  tliat 
period  without  finding  similar  outrages  recorded.  It  is  true 
that  it  is  difficult  to  assign  any  motive  that  could  induce 
the  robbers  to  encumber  themselves  with  the  strongest  proof 
of  their  crime,  by  carrying  her  off ;  but  it  is  equally  difficult 
to  suggest  any  cause  other  than  that  which  she  herself  assigned 
for  the  condition  to  which  she  was  reduced.  An  attempt  was 
made  during  the  proceedings  to  show  a  connection  to  have 
existed  between  Elizabeth  Canning  and  the  witness  Scarratt, 
but  the  attempt  utterly  failed.  Scarratt  swore  (and  he  would 
have  been  easily  contradicted  had  he  sworn  falsely)  that  he 
had  no  acquaintance  with  the  girl ;  and  although  he  resided 
in  the  neighbourhood,  he  believed  he  had  never  even  seen  her 
until  the  night  of  her  return  to  her  mother's  house.  It  was 
upon  her  saying  that  she  had  been  on  the  Hertfordshire  road 
that  his  suspicions  pointed  to  Wells's  house,  which  he  had 
before  known  as  one  of  evil  repute,  as  the  place  of  her  confine- 
ment ;  but  his  good  fuitli  is  shown  by  his  admission  that  he 
mentioned  the  name  of  Wells  to  her  first,  and  the  description 
which  Canning  gave  of  the  room  could  not  have  been  suggested 
by  his  questions,  as  he  had  never  been  in  it.^  The  description 
which  she  gave  of  the  woman  who  cut  off  her  stays  is  also 
conclusive  that  she  was  nut  prompted  by  Scarratt,  who,  when 

»  Scarratt,  493. 
X 


322  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

lie  heard  it,  immediately  said  that  it  did  not  answer  to  Wells, 
who  was  the  person  he  suspected. 

On  the  day  but  one  after,  the  31st  of  January,  Canninj^ 
repeated  her  story  to  Alderman  Chitty,  who  was  the  sitting 
alderman  at  the  time,  and  who  thereupon  issued  his  warrant  for 
the  apprehension  of  Mother  Wells. 

On  the  1st  of  February,  Canning,  accompanied  by  her  mother 
and  her  friends,  went  with  the  officer  who  had  charge  of  the 
warrant  to  Enfield  Wash. 

The  house  of  Mother  Wells  still  stands  a  little  beyond  the 
tenth  milestone  on  the  Hertford  road.  It  is  on  the  right 
hand,  at  the  corner  of  the  lane  leading  down  to  the  Ordnance 
Factory  Station  of  the  Eastern  Counties  Eaihvay.  The  shell 
has  been  but  little  altered,  and  the  rooms  still  remain  nearly 
the  same  as  they  appear  on  the  plan  which  was  published  in 
the  '  Gentleman's  Magazine  '  for  1753.  If  the  truth  of  Eliza- 
beth Canning's  story  was  to  be  proved  in  the  same  way  as 
Jack  Cade's  royal  descent,  "the  bricks  are  alive  to  this  day  to 
testify  it."  The  window  through  which  she  escaped  still  com- 
mands a  view  of  the  road  to  Hertford.  Chingford  Hill  might 
still,  but  for  the  cottages  which  have  sprung  up  in  conse- 
quence of  the  railway  station,  be  seen,  as  she  described,  from 
the  other  window.  The  pantUes  of  the  roof  stUl  remain  un- 
pointed, and  everything  bears  testimony  to  the  truth  of  her 
description.  But  instead  of  Mother  Wells  and  her  gang  of 
tramps  and  gypsies,  we  found,  on  our  visit  to  Enfield  Wash,  a 
comely  matron  presiding  at  a  table  surrounded  by  bonny  lasses 
and  chubby  boys  from  sixteen  downwards,  whose  laughing 
blue  eyes  and  clear  rosy  complexions  formed  as  strong  and 
agreeable  a  contrast  to  poor  Elizabeth  Canning  as  the  bright 
furniture,  cheerful  hearth,  and  blazing  fire  did  to  the  desola- 
tion, filth,  and  discomfort  which  formerly  prevailed  in  that 
now  comfortable  dwelling.  Assuredly  fate  seems  to  have 
mingled  a  very  fair  allowance  of  sugar  and  nutmeg  in  the  cup 
of  ]\Ir  Negus — for  such  is  the  jolly  name  of  the  present  occu- 
pant of  the  house,  who  seems  to  be,  and  we  ti'ust  is,  driving  a 
prosperous  trade  as  a  baker. 

Canning  was  carried  from  room  to  room,  and  at  last  into 


ELIZABETH   CANNING.  323 

the  loft.  She  immediately  said,  "  This  is  the  room  I  was  in, 
but  there  is  more  hay  in  it  than  there  was  when  I  was  here  ;"^ 
and  she  pushed  some  of  the  hay  aside  with  her  foot,  and 
showed  two  holes  in  the  floor  which  she  had  observed.  She 
pointed  out  the  cask,  the  saddle,  the  pitcher,  the  tobacco- 
mould,  and  the  pewter  basin,^  which  she  had  mentioned  on 
her  arrival  at  her  mother's ;  and  she  correctly  described  the 
view  which  might  be  seen  from  each  of  the  windows.  On 
examination,  the  boards  which  closed  up  the  window  at  which 
she  said  she  had  escaped,  were  found  to  have  been  only  fastened 
there  very  recently,  as  "the  wood  was  fresh  split  with  driving 
a  great  nail  through  it,  and  the  crack  seemed  as  fresh  as  could 
be."  3 

Could  there  be  stronger  confirmation  of  the  truth  of  her 
story  ?  By  what  means  could  Canning  have  acquired  this 
accurate  knowledge  ?  It  has  been  said  that  the  room  did  not 
agree  with  Canning's  description.  A  careful  examination  of 
the  evidence  shows,  however,  that  it  coincided  with  that  de- 
scription in  the  most  remarkable  manner.  There  were,  no 
doubt,  some  discrepancies — for  instance.  Canning  had  men- 
tioned a  grate,  and  there  proved  to  be  none.  She  had  spoken 
of  a  saddle,  and  three  were  found.  She  had  spoken  of  being 
locked  in,  whilst  in  fact  the  door  was  fastened  only  with  a 
button  or  bolt.     There  were  some  other  trifling  inaccuracies. 

Suspicion  had  pointed  at  Wells  as  the  person  who  had  com- 
mitted the  outrage  ;  but  when  Canning  was  brought  into  the 
room  in  which  all  the  inmates  of  the  house  were  collected, 
contradicting  the  expectation  of  her  friends,  she  passed  Wells 
by  unnoticed,  and,  pointing  to  an  old  gypsy  woman  of  the 
name  of  Mary  Squires,  who  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  said,  "  That 
old  woman  in  the  corner  was  the  woman  that  robbed  me." 
The  gypsy  rose  from  her  seat,  drew  aside  the  cloak  in  which 
she  was  partially  muflled,  and  displayed  a  face  such  as,  once 
seen,  could  not  easily  be  forgotten.  She  was,  as  Canning  had 
described  her,  "  tall,  dark,  and  swarthy."  She  looked  stead- 
fastly at  Canning,  and  exclaimed,  "  ^le  rob  you  !  I  never  saw 
you  in  my  life  before.     For  God  Almighty's  sake  do  not  swear 

1  Myers,  .^.OG.  -  .'^carratt,  497  ;  Myers,  TOG,  •'  Adanison,  517. 


324  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

my  life  away !  Pray,  madam,  l<;ok  at  this  face  ;  if  yoii  have 
once  seen  it  before,  you  must  have  remembered  it :  for  God 
Almighty,  I  think,  never  made  such  anotlier.  Pray,  madam, 
when  do  you  say  I  robbed  you  ? "  Canning  said  it  was  on 
the  first  day  of  the  new  year.  "  Lord  bless  me  ! "  exclaimed 
the  gypsy,  "  I  was  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  from  this  place 
then  !  "  George  Squires,  the  gypsy's  son,  immediately  added, 
"  We  were  in  Dorsetshire  at  that  time,  at  a  place  called  Abbots- 
bury  ;  we  went  there  to  keep  our  Christmas."  Here  we  arrive 
at  the  beginning  of  what  makes  tliis  case  so  remarkable.  We 
have  insisted  on  the  importance  of  the  first  account  given  by 
Canning.  The  gypsy  and  her  son  are  entitled  to  a  like  con- 
sideration. Tliis  prompt  and  ready  alibi,  asserted  without 
hesitation,  specifying  time  and  place  with  undoubting  accu- 
racy, and  thus  affording  means  for  testing  its  truth,  gave 
occasion  to  the  very  remarkable  conflict  of  testimony  which 
followed,  and  which  entitles  this  case  to  its  rank  as  one  of  the 
most  interesting  on  record.  An  alibi  is,  as  has  often  been 
remarked,  the  best  or  the  worst  of  defences.  It  often  depends 
upon  a  few  miles  or  even  a  few  yards  of  distance,  or  upon  a 
clock  being  a  few  minutes  fast  or  slow.  No  such  nicety  arises 
in  this  case.  The  robbery  was  committed  early  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  1st  of  January — New- Year's  Day — a  date  easily 
fixed.  Abbotsbury  is  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  as  the  crow 
flies,  from  Enfield:  the  gypsy  understated  the  distance.  It 
also  often  involves  difficult  questions  of  personal  identity. 
None  such  arise  here.  The  gypsy  spoke  truly  when  she  said 
that  "  God  Almighty  never  made  such  another  face  as  hers." 
She  was  not  only  singularly  hideous,  but  deeply  marked  with 
the  scars  of  disease ;  and  the  witnesses  who  were  examined 
had  many  of  them  been  long  familiar  with  her  appearance. 
Tliese  circumstances  seem  to  exclude  the  possibility  of  mistake 
on  the  part  of  the  witnesses.  Must  we  then  resort  to  the  con- 
clusion that  one  side  or  the  other  is  guilty  of  perjury  ?  This 
hypothesis,  though  easy  and  simple  enough  at  first  sight,  will 
be  found  on  investigation  to  be  attended  with  nearly  as 
many  difficulties  as  any  other.  We  must,  however,  go  back  to 
Elizabeth  Canning,  wliom  we  left  in  Mother  Wells's  kitchen, 


ELIZABETH   CANNING.  325 

confronted  by  the  gypsy  and  her  sou.  In  the  house,  besides 
the  gypsy  and  her  family,  was  a  man  of  the  singular  name  of 
Fortune  Natus  and  his  wife,  and  a  young  woman  named  Virtue 
Hall.  The  whole  party  were  forthwith  taken  to  the  residence 
of  the  nearest  magistrate,  Mr  Teshmaker,  of  Ford's  Grove,  by 
whom  all  were  discharged  with  the  exception  of  the  gypsy  and 
Mother  Wells,  who  were  committed  to  prison  to  take  their 
trial,  the  one  for  stealing  Canning's  stays,  and  the  other  as 
accessory  to  the  felony. 

A  new  actor  now  comes  on  the  stage,  and  a  curious  insight 
is  afforded  into  the  mode  in  which  inquiries  of  this  nature 
were  conducted  in  the  metropolis  a  hundred  years  ago. 

Henry  Fielding,  the  celebrated  novelist,  was  then  a  police 
magistrate  of  London. 

To  tell  a  tale  told  by  Fielding  in  any  words  but  his  own 
would  indeed  be  presumption. 

"  Upon  the  6th  of  February,"  he  says,^  "  as  I  was  sitting  in 
my  room,  Counsellor  Bladen  being  then  with  me,  my  clerk 
delivered  me  a  case,  which  was  thus,  as  I  remember,  indorsed 
at  the  top  :  '  The  case  of  Elizabeth  Canning,  for  Mr  Fielding's 
opinion  ;'  and  at  the  bottom,  '  Salt,  Sol"".'  Upon  the  receipt  of 
this  case,  with  my  fee,  I  bid  my  clerk  give  my  service  to  Mr 
Salt,  and  tell  him  that  I  would  take  the  case  with  me  into 
the  country,  whitlier  I  intended  to  go  the  next  day,  and 
desired  he  would  call  for  it  on  the  Friday  morning  afterwards ; 
after  which,  without  looking  into  it,  I  delivered  it  to  my  wife, 
who  was  then  drinking  tea  with  us,  and  who  laid  it  by.  The 
reader  will  pardon  my  being  so  particular  in  these  circum- 
stances, as  they  seem,  however  trifling  they  may  be  in  them- 
selves, to  show  the  true  nature  of  this  whole  transaction, 
which  hath  been  so  basely  misrepresented,  and  as  they  will 
all  be  attested  by  a  gentleman  of  fashion,  and  of  as  much 
honour  as  any  in  the  nation.  My  clerk  presently  returned 
up-stairs,  and  brought  Mr  Salt  with  him,  who,  when  he  came 
into  the  room,  told  me  that  he  believed  the  question  would  be 

'  A  Clear  State  of  tho  Case  of  Elizabeth  Caiiuhig,  l>y  Henry  Fielding,  Esq., 
1753,  V.  30. 


326  JIJDICIAI,     I'lZZI.KS. 

of  little  (lifliculty,  ami  begged  me  earnestly  to  read  it  over 
then,  and  give  him  my  opinion,  as  it  was  a  matter  of  some 
haste,  being  of  a  criminal  nature,  and  he  feared  the  parties 
would  make  their  escape.  Upon  this,  I  desired  him  to  sit 
down ;  and  when  the  tea  was  ended,  I  ordered  my  wife  to 
fetch  me  back  the  case,  which  I  then  read  over,  and  found  it 
to  contain  a  very  full  and  clear  state  of  the  whole  affair  relat- 
ing to  the  usage  of  this  girl,  with  a  query  what  methods 
might  be  proper  to  take  to  bring  the  offenders  to  justice  ; 
which  query  I  answered  in  the  best  manner  I  was  able.  ^Ir 
Salt  then  desired  that  Elizabeth  Canning  might  swear  to  her 
information  before  me ;  and  added  that  it  was  the  very  par- 
ticular desire  of  several  gentlemen  of  that  end  of  the  town, 
that  Virtue  Hall  might  be  examined  by  me  relating  to  her 
knowledge  of  this  affair.  This  business  I  at  first  declined, 
partly  as  it  was  a  transaction  which  had  happened  at  a  dis- 
tant part  of  the  country,  as  it  had  been  examined  already  by 
a  gentleman  with  whom  I  have  the  pleasure  of  some  acquain- 
tance, and  of  whose  worth  and  integrity  I  have,  with  all,  I 
believe,  who  know  him,  a  very  high  opinion ;  but  princi- 
pally, indeed,  for  that  I  had  been  almost  fatigued  to  death 
with  several  tedious  examinations  at  that  time,  and  had  in- 
tended to  refresh  myself  with  a  day  or  two's  interval  in  the 
country,  where  I  had  not  been,  unless  on  a  Sunday,  for  a  long 
time.  I  yielded,  however,  at  last  to  the  importunities  of  Mr 
Salt ;  and  my  only  motives  for  so  doing  were,  besides  those 
importunities,  some  curiosity,  occasioned  by  the  extraordinary 
nature  of  the  case,  and  a  great  compassion  for  the  dread- 
ful condition  of  the  girl,  as  it  was  represented  to  me  by  Mr 
Salt. 

"  The  next  day  Elizabeth  Canning  was  brought  in  a  chair 
to  my  house,  and  being  led  up-stairs  between  two,  the  follow- 
ing information,  which  I  had  never  before  seen,  was  read  over 
to  her,  when  she  swore  to  the  truth,  and  set  her  mark  to  it." 

Here  foUows  Canning's  information,  somewhat  expanded 
from  the  one  made  before  Alderman  Chitty,  but  in  the  main 
the  same. 


ELIZABETH   CANNING.  327 

"  Upon  this  information,"  continues  Fielding,  "  I  issued  a 
warrant  against  all  who  should  be  found  resident  in  the  house 
of  the  said  "Wells,  as  idle  and  disorderly  persons,  and  persons 
of  evil  name,  that  they  miglit  appear  before  me,  and  give 
security  for  their  good  behaviour  ;  upon  which  warrant,  Virtue 
Hall  and  one  Judith  Natus  were  seized  and  brohght  before 
me,  both  being  found  at  Mother  Wells's.  Jhey  were  in  my 
house  above  an  hour  or  more  before  I  was  at  leisure  to  see 
them,  during  which  time,  and  before  I  had  ever  seen  Virtue 
Hall,  I  was  informed  that  she  would  confess  the  whole  matter. 
When  she  came  before  me  she  appeared  in  tears,  and  seemed 
all  over  in  a  trembling  condition,  upon  which  I  endeavoured 
to  soothe  and  comfort  her.  The  words  I  first  spoke  to  her,  as 
well  as  I  can  remember,  were  these :  '  Child,  you  need  not  be 
under  this  fear  and  apprehension ;  if  you  will  tell  us  the 
whole  truth  of  this  affair,  I  give  you  my  word  and  honour,  as 
far  as  it  is  in  my  power  to  protect  you,  you  shall  come  to  no 
manner  of  harm.'  She  answered  that  she  would  tell  the  whole 
truth,  but  desired  to  have  some  time  given  her  to  recover  from 
her  fright.  Upon  this,  I  ordered  a  chair  to  be  brought  her,  and 
desired  her  to  sit  down  ;  and  then,  after  some  minutes,  began 
to  examine  her,  which  I  continued  doing  in  the  softest  lan- 
guage and  kindest  manner  I  was  able,  for  a  considerable  time, 
till  she  had  been  guilty  of  so  many  prevarications  and  contra- 
dictions that  I  told  her  I  would  examine  her  no  longer,  but 
would  commit  her  to  prison,  and  leave  her  to  stand  or  fall  by 
the  evidence  against  her ;  and  at  the  same  time  advised  Mr 
Salt  to  prosecute  her  as  a  felon,  together  with  the  gypsy 
woman.  Upon  this  she  begged  I  would  hear  her  once  more, 
and  said  that  she  would  tell  the  whole  truth,  and  accounted 
for  her  unwillingness  to  do  it  from  her  fears  of  the  gypsy 
woman  and  Wells.  I  then  asked  her  a  few  questions,  which 
she  answered  with  more  appearance  of  truth  than  she  had 
done  before ;  after  which  I  recommended  to  Mr  Salt  to  go  with 
her,  and  take  her  information  in  writing  ;  and  at  her  parting 
from  me,  I  bid  her  be  a  good  girl,  and  be  sure  to  say  neither 
more  nor  less  than  the  whole  truth.  During  this  whole  time 
there  were  no  less  than  ten  or   a   dozen  persons   of  credit 


328  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

present,  who  will,  I  suppose,  testify  the  truth' of  this  whi»l<'. 
transaction  as  it  is  here  related.  Virtue  Hall  then  went 
from  mc,  and  returned  in  about  two  hours  ;  wlien  tlie  follow- 
ing information,  which  was,  as  she  said,  taken  from  her  mouth, 
was  read  over  to  her,  and  signed  witli  her  mark." 

The  information  of  Virtue  Hall,  as  might  be  expected  from 
the  circumstances  under  which  it  was  taken,  is  a  mere  echo 
to  that  of  Canning. 

What  should  we  think  at  the  present  day  of  a  magistrate 
who  received  a  fee  and  instructions  from  a  prosecuting  solici- 
tor, who  hesitated  to  investigate  a  charge  of  felony  because 
he  wanted  a  day  or  two  of  relaxation  in  the  country,  who 
alternately  coaxed  and  threatened  a  prisoner  who  had  been 
brought  before  him  on  his  own  warrant,  until  he  had  obtained 
a  confession,  and  who  then  aUo\ved  that  prisoner  to  be  closeted 
in  private  with  the  attorney  for  the  prosecution,  and  to  be 
sworn  to  an  information  procured  from  her  by  the  attorney 
during  that  interview,  and  produced  ready  cut  and  dried ! 
The  naJiveU  with  which  Fielding  tells  the  story  is  amusing. 
He  was  clearly  unconscious  that  he  was  doing  anything  wrong 
or  even  irregular,  and  no  doubt  such  a  proceeding  was  by  no 
means  unusual.  But  the  evidence  of  Virtue  Hall  is  under 
these  circumstances  utterly  worthless.  We  need  feel  no  sur- 
prise that  she  afterwards,  when  the  pressure  came  from  the  other 
side,  retracted  every  word  she  had  sworn,  and  her  testimony 
may  be  cast  out  of  the  case  altogether.^  We  still  get  no 
further  than  the  evidence  of  Elizabeth  Canning  herself. 

On  the  21st  of  February  1753,  ^lary  Squires  and  Susannah 
Wells  were  placed  at  the  bar  of  the  Old  Bailey.  Canning 
told  her  story  ;  Virtue  Hall  coiToborated  it  point  by  point. 
The  condition  in  which  she  returned  home,  and  the  circum- 
stances attending  the  capture  of  Squires  and  Wells,  were 
proved  as  we  have  narrated  them.  Squires  was  then  called 
upon  for  her  defence.  She  said  nothing,  but  called  three 
witnesses.     John  Gibbons,  who  kept  a  pubKc-house  at  Abbots- 

1  state  Trials,  .\ix.  455,  275  ;  Gascoyne's  Report ;  Dr  Hill's  pamphlet. 
See  "  A  full  and  authentic  Account,"  &c.,  i>.  06. 


ELIZABETH   CANNING.  329 

Ijury,  near  Dorchester,  swore  that  Squires  was  at  his  house 
from  the  1st  of  January  to  the  9tli.  William  Clarke  cor- 
roborated this  statement.  Thomas  Greville  of  Coombe,  near 
Salisbury,  deponed  that  she  was  at  his  house  on  the  14th  of 
January.  To  meet  this  evidence  a  man  of  the  name  of  Iniser 
was  called  on  behalf  of  the  prosecution  to  prove  that  he  had 
seen  Squires  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Enfield  about  the  time 
in  question — namely,  the  first  week  in  January.  Wells,  on 
being  called  upon,  admitted  that  her  character  would  not  bear 
investigation.  She  was  what  was  called  in  the  slang  of  the 
day  (rendered  classic  by  Mr  Harrison  Ainsworth  and  the 
Newgate  -  Calendar  school  of  novelists)  a  "hempen  widow." 
Her  husband  had  been  "  unfortunate."  It  is  curious  to  watch 
the  changes  of  language.  A  word  which  then  meant  that  a 
scoundrel  had  been  hanged,  now  only  implies  that  he  has 
obtained  a  second  -  class  certificate  from  a  commissioner  of 
bankruptcy.  Both  were  convicted.  On  the  last  day  of  the  ses- 
sion they  were  called  up  for  sentence.  Squires  then  said  that 
she  was  at  Greville's  house  at  Coombe  on  New-Year's  Day,  on 
the  next  day  at  Stopage,  on  the  Thursday  in  New- Year's  week 
at  Basingstoke,  on  Friday  at  Bagshot,  on  Saturday  at  Old 
Brentford,  where  she  remained  on  Sunday  and  INEouday ;  and 
that  she  came  to  Enfield  on  the  Tuesday  following.  This 
account,  being  inconsistent  with  that  given  by  Gibbons,  who 
had  sworn  that  from  the  1st  to  the  9th  of  January  she  was  at 
his  house  at  Abbotsbury,  was  considered  to  be  conclusive  of  the 
falsehood  of  her  defence.  It  seems  to  liave  been  overlooked 
that  the  gypsy  reckoned  by  the  old  style,  which  reconciles  the 
two  statements  within  two  days — no  very  serious  discrepancy 
when  made  by  an  ignorant  and  illiterate  woman.  Squires 
was  sentenced  to  death  ;  Wells  was  condenmcd  to  be  branded 
on  the  hand,  and  imprisoned  for  six  months.  The  first  part 
of  this  sentence  was  immediately  executed  ;  and  as  the  poor 
wretch's  hand  hissed  under  the  glowing  iron,  and  she  writhed 
and  screamed  in  agony,  a  yell  of  delight  burst  from  the  brutal 
mob  who  crowded  the  session-house. 

There  was,  however,  happily  one  man  present,  of  sense  and 
humanity.     Sir  Cris[)e  Gascoyne,  who  presided  over  the  court 


3o0  JUDICIAL   rrzzLKs. 

Ly  virtuo  of  his  oflicc  as  Lord  Mayor,  doubted  tlic  correctness 
of  the  venlict.  lie  instituted  a  close  and  careful  inquiiy.  He 
found  the  evidence  of  the  Abbotsbury  men  confirmed  by  tlieir 
neighbours.  Virtue  Hall  retracted  her  evidence.^  These  facts 
lie  laid  before  the  Crown  on  making  his  report  of  the  convicts. 
They  were  referred  to  the  law-ofTicers.  Squires  was  respited. 
The  Attorney  and  Solicitor  General  reported  that  the  weight 
of  tlie  evidence  was  in  the  convict's  favour,  and  upon  this  she 
received  a  free  pardon. 

A  war  of  pamphlets  now  commenced ;  as  many  as  thirty- 
six  were  published.  Fielding  on  the  one  side,  and  Kamsay 
the  painter  on  the  other,  became  respectively  the  champions  of 
Canning  and  the  gypsy.  The  newspapers  were  filled  with  the 
controversy.  Portraits  of  Canning  and  of  the  gypsy  (the  latter 
of  which  fully  bear  out  the  report  of  her  ugliness)  were  dis- 
played in  the  shop-windows,  together  with  plans  and  views  of 
AVells's  house,  and  terrific  representations  of  the  principal 
incidents  of  the  story.  Grub  Street  thrived.  To  its  hungiy 
inhabitants 

"  Betty  Canning  was  at  least, 
"With  Gascoyne's  help,  a  six  months'  ft-ast.''^ 

The  town  was  divided  into  Egyptians  and  Canningites. 
Families  were  split  up  into  factions.  Old  friends  who  took 
different  sides  quarrelled.  Mobs  paraded  the  streets,  blockaded 
the  entrances  to  the  courts,  and  attacked  Sir  Crispe  Gascoyne 
in  his  coach.  Never,  probably,  has  a  case  which  involved  no 
public  question  created  so  much  interest  and  excitement. 

This  state  of  things  continued  for  fourteen  months.  At 
length,  on  the  29th  of  April  1754,  Canning  was  placed  at  the 
same  bar  at  which  Squires  had  formerly  stood,  to  take  her  trial 
for  wilful  and  corrupt  perjury.  Her  trial  lasted  several  days. 
The  attention  of  the  prosecution  was  directed  principally  to 
two  points :  first,  to  prove  the  alibi  of  the  gypsy ;  and,  se- 
condly, to  contradict  Canning's  story  by  the  evidence  of  persons 
who  had  been  in  the  room  during  the  time  she  professed  to 
have  been  confined  there. 

>  Keport,  State  Trials,  xix.  275.  =  Churchill  Ghost,  1S2. 


ELIZABETH    CANNING.  331 

111  support  of  the  first  of  these  issues  they  called  as  many  as 
thirty-six  witnesses;  and  certainly,  if  numbers,  positiveness, 
and  particularity  could  prove  an  issue,  this  was  proved.  But 
when  the  evidence  conies  to  be  examined,  much  of  it  is  open 
to  grave  suspicion.  George  Squires,  the  gypsy's  son,  gave  the 
most  minute  account  of  where  he  and  his  mother  and  sister 
were,  and  what  they  did  during  the  month  of  January.  He 
traced  their  course  day  by  day,  and  from  place  to  place.  But 
when  he  was  asked  with  regard  to  the  rest  of  his  journey, 
which  he  stated  began  about  jNIichaelmas,  he  was  totally  un- 
able to  answer.  His  sister,  wlio  was  in  court  the  whole  time, 
and  who  had  accompanied  George  and  his  mother  in  their 
travels,  was  never  examined  at  all,  nor  was  the  gypsy  herself 
placed  in  the  witness-box.  It  was  obvious  that  the  counsel  for 
the  prosecution  feared  that  they  would  give  inconsistent  or 
contradictory  accounts. 

Upon  the  second  issue,  the  principal  witnesses  were  Fortune 
Natus  and  his  wife,  who  swore  that  they  slept  in  the  loft  every 
night  during  the  month  of  January.  If  this  was  true,  of  course 
there  is  an  end  of  the  question.  But  it  must  be  remembered 
that,  long  before  they  were  examined,  Virtue  Hall  had  sworn 
that  the  hay  in  which  they  had  slept  in  the  kitchen  was  re- 
moved into  the  loft,  and  that  they  slept  there  after  Canning's 
escape,  on  purpose  to  give  colour  to  this  very  story.  It  may 
also  be  asked,  why  was  not  this  tale  told  on  the  trial  of 
Squires  ?  If  true,  the  very  first  thing  that  would  have  been 
said,  when  Canning  stated  that  she  had  been  confined  in  that 
room,  would  have  been,  "  That  cannot  be,  for  Natus  and  his 
wife  slept  there  the  whole  of  the  time."  Yet  Natus  and  liis 
wife  were  present  when  Canning  was  first  brought  down  to 
Enfield ;  they  were  taken  before  Justice  Teshmaker ;  they 
were  present  during  tlie  trial  of  Squires,  when  they  were  not 
examined,  and  this  fact,  conclusive,  if  true,  is  never  heard  of 
until  fourteen  montlis  afterwards !  Is  it  possible  to  place  any 
reliance  upon  evidence  given  under  such  circumstances  ? 

The  argument  most  strongly  relied  upon  as  invalidating 
Canning's  story,  arises  from  tlie  absence  of  motive  on  the  part 
of  any  one  to  carry  her  off  and  shut  her  up  as  she  described. 


:5;;2  judicial  tuzzlks. 

Canniiijf  swore  that  she  understood  tlic  f^ypsy's  question, 
wlicthcr  she  "  wouhl  f,'o  tlieir  way  ?"  to  imply  that  she  sliouM 
lead  a  life  of  prostitution.  This  was  tlie  interpretation  popu- 
larly adopted;  and  much  of  the  sympathy  which  Canning  ob- 
tained was  given  on  the  supposition  that  she  was  a  girl  whose 
virtue  had  been  proof  against  Loth  temptation  and  terror.  But 
this  hypothesis  will  not  hear  a  moment's  investigation.  There 
is  not  one  particle  of  evidence  that  she  was  exposed  to  any 
solicitations  wliatever  of  this  kind.  Nor,  though  it  was  the 
resort  of  tramps,  gypsies,  and  other  disreputable  characters, 
does  it  appear  that  ^Mother  Wells's  was  what  is  commonly 
understood  by  a  house  of  ill-fame.  But,  does  the  absence  of 
assignable  motive  justify  us  in  rejecting  the  stoiy  as  untrue? 
Those  who  are  familiar  with  criminal  courts  know  well  how 
slight  and  insignificant  are  the  motives  which  often  impel  men 
to  the  most  tenible  crimes.  Gleeson  Wilson  entered  the  house 
of  Mrs  Heurickson,  at  Liverpool,  apparently  with  no  other  in- 
tention but  that  of  pilfering  such  small  articles  as  he  might 
have  an  opportunity  of  purloining  as  a  lodger ;  but  before  he 
left  it  the  next  morning,  he  had  committed  four  of  the  most 
atrocious  murders  on  record.  It  is  not  more  than  three  or  four 
years  since  two  boys  returning  home  from  their  work,  in  broad 
daylight,  in  the  middle  of  London,  were  met  by  an  apparently 
respectable  man  driving  a  Whitechapel  cart,  who  inquired  his 
way  to  some  place  in  the  neighbourhood.  One  of  the  boys 
began  to  give  him  directions,  when  he  asked  the  little  fellow 
to  get  into  the  cart,  and  show  him  the  road.  Eejoicing  in  the 
certainty  of  a  ride,  and  the  hope  of  a  sixpence,  the  poor  boy 
got  into  the  cart,  and  his  companion  went  home  to  tea.  He 
was  never  again  seen  alive.  About  six  weeks  afterwards,  his 
body,  naked,  in  a  state  of  the  most  extreme  emaciation,  was 
found  in  a  ditch  near  Acton.  There  was  no  external  violence. 
He  had  hcen  starved  to  death.  The  police  exhausted  every 
means  that  ingenuity  could  suggest,  but  in  vain.  Xo  traces 
have  ever  been  discovered  how,  why,  or  by  whom  this  appal- 
ling crime  was  committed ;  nor  has  any  motive  for  its  com- 
mission been,  so  far  as  we  are  aware,  even  suggested.  Had 
Elizabeth  Canning  died  in  the  house  of  Mother  Wells,  and  her 


ELIZABETH    CANNING.  333 

body  been  thrown  into  a  ditch  in  Enfield  marsh,  an  equally 
impenetrable  mystery  would  probably  have  shrouded  her  fate. 

Highly  improbable  every  one  must  admit  Canning's  story 
to  be,  and  we  must  therefore  look  with  the  most  critical  cau- 
tion upon  the  confirmatory  evidence,  before  we  permit  our- 
selves to  admit  its  truth.  That  confirmatory  evidence  divides 
itself  into  two  classes.  The  first  we  may  call  the  circumstan- 
tial confirmation,  derived  from  its  coincidence  with  existing 
facts.  Such  is  the  coincidence  between  her  description  of  the 
room  and  its  contents  given  on  the  29th  of  January,  with  the 
condition  of  the  room  actually  found  on  the  1st  of  February. 
Such,  too,  is  the  coincidence  of  the  description  previously 
given  by  Canning  of  the  appearance  of  the  woman  who  cut 
off  her  stays  with  the  gypsy.  This  confirmation  is  of  course 
weaker  or  stronger  in  proportion  as  it  is  tainted  by  or  free 
from  previous  suggestions  from  other  persons.  Thus  her  de- 
scription of  the  room,  which  was  independent  of,  and  her  de- 
scription of  the  gypsy,  which  was  contradictory  to,  Scarratt's 
suggestions,  are  worthy  of  much  consideration  ;  whilst  her  de- 
scription of  the  fields  through  which  she  passed,  of  the  tan- 
yard  and  the  bridge,  given  in  reply  to  his  suggestive  questions, 
is  of  little  or  no  value.  This  we  have  already  considered. 
The  second  class  is  the  extrinsic  confirmation  derived  from 
tlie  testimony  of  witnesses,  and  this  is  again  divided  into  that 
which  supports  Canning's  story,  and  that  which  contradicts 
the  alibi  set  up  by  Squires. 

As  to  the  first  of  these  subdivisions,  the  evidence  is  scanty, 
but  valuable  as  far  as  it  goes.  The  keeper  of  the  turnpike 
gate  on  Stamford  Hill,  about  three  miles  from  Moorfields,  do- 
posed  that,  one  evening  early  in  January,  between  ten  and 
eleven  o'clock,  he  heard  "  something  of  a  sobbing  crying 
voice,"  coming  towards  the  gate  from  the  direction  of  London. 
The  night  was  still  and  dark,  but  as  the  noise  approached,  he 
saw  two  men  dragging  a  young  woman  along.  They  lifted  lier 
over  the  stile  by  the  gate,  and  one  of  the  men  laughed  and 
said  with  an  oath,  "  How  drunk  she  is  ! "  Supposing  this  to 
be  the  case,  and  that  the  woman  was  the  wife  or  sister  of  one 
of  the  men,  liesides  considering  that  he  was  single-handed,  he 


334  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

(lid  111)1  interforc,  and  thoy  passed  on  in  tlm  diioction  of  En- 
field. III!  (lid  not  profess  to  identify  Canning,  nor  to  fix  the 
time  with  any  greater  certainty  than  that  it  was  the  beginning 
ol"  Jannary. 

It  will  be  remembered  that,  on  her  arrival  at  home,  Canning 
said,  that  soon  after  escaping  from  Mother  Willis's,  she  asked 
her  road  to  London.  Thomas  Bennett  deponed,  that  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  29th  of  January  he  met  a  girl,  in  the  mo.st 
wretched  and  pitiable  condition,  and  whose  description  exactly 
answered  to  Canning,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  on  the  London 
side  of  Mother  Wells's  House ;  that  she  asked  him  the  way  to 
London,  and  he  directed  her.  He  fixed  the  date  by  other  cir- 
cumstances, and  said  that  when,  a  day  or  two  afterwards,  he 
heard  of  Canning's  escape,  he  exclaimed,  "  I'll  be  hanged  if  I 
did  not  meet  the  young  woman  near  this  place,  and  told  her 
the  way  to  London." 

Daniel  Dyer  and  Mary  Cobb  gave  similar  evidence  as  to 
having  met  a  miserable-looking  girl  about  the  same  time  and 
place,  and  the  former  spoke  with  some  confidence  to  Canning 
as  being  that  girl.  It  will  be  observed  that  the  other  wit- 
nesses merely  speak  to  general  similarity.  But  this,  though  at 
first  sight  it  appears  to  detract  from  the  value  of  their  testi- 
mony, in  fact  adds  to  its  weight.  Had  they  not  been  giving 
truthful  evidence,  they  would  have  made  little  scruple  in 
swearing  positively  to  Canning  as  being  the  person  they  saw. 

Is  it  then  likel}'  that  another  girl,  so  closely  answering  the 
description  both  as  to  person  and  circumstances  (both  being 
so  remarkable),  should  have  been  dragged  by  two  men  along 
that  road  towards  Enfield,  at  the  same  hour  of  the  night,  at 
the  beginning  of  January,  and  have  returned  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  29th  ?  Such  a  coincidence  appears  almost  beyond  the 
bounds  of  possibility. 

Here  the  evidence  with  regard  to  Canning  ends. 

To  meet  the  alibi  proved  by  the  thirtj^-six  xVbbotsbury  wit- 
nesses, twenty-six  Enfield  witnesses  were  called,  who  swore 
that  they  had  seen  ^lary  Squires  at  Enfield  and  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood at  various  times  during  the  latter  end  of  December 
and  boixinniiig  of  Januarv.      Thev  swore  to  the  identitv  of 


ELIZABETH    CANNING.  335 

Squires,  whom  many  of  them  had  loug  known,  with  the  ut- 
most certainty  ;  they  gave  their  reasons,  some  good  and  some 
bad,  for  remembering  the  time  with  the  greatest  accuracy. 
Their  testimony  seems  to  be  in  all  respects  equal,  and  in  some 
superior,  to  that  of  the  witnesses  M'ho  had  proved  the  alibi. 

Here,  then,  we  find  the  extraordinary  fact  of  thirty-six  wit- 
nesses positively  swearing  that  a  particular  person,  whom  they 
well  knew,  was  in  Dorsetshire  at  a  certain  time,  and  twenty- 
six  other  witnesses  swearing  that  the  same  person,  whom  they 
knew  equally  well,  was  at  tlie  same  time- a  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  oflf,  in  Middlesex !  What  are  we  to  make  of  this  ?  AVe 
have  turned  it  over  and  over,  looked  at  it  this  way  and  that 
way,  read  it  backwards  and  forwards  and  upside  down,  and 
there  it  remains,  puzzling  us  like  a  horrid  incubus  or  incom- 
prehensible nightmare.  Is  any  faith  to  be  placed  in  human 
testimony  ?  Eead  the  evidence  on  one  side,  and  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  refuse  our  assent  to  it.  Eead  that  on  the  other,  and  it 
is  equally  conclusive.  The  alibi  and  the  ibi  are  each  sup- 
ported by  a  train  of  evidence  which  appears  irresistible. 

The  Recorder  told  the  jury  that  if  they  believed  the  Enfield 
witnesses,  the  Abbotsbury  witnesses  must  be  wilfully  per- 
jured ;  but  he  forgot  to  add,  that  if  they  believed  the  Abbots- 
bury  witnesses,  an  equally  unpleasant  consequence  followed  as 
to  the  Enfield  witnesses. 

The  verdict  of  the  jury  was  of  a  piece  with  the  rest  of  the 
case.  They  found  that  Canning  was  "  guilty  of  perjury,  but 
not  vnlful  and  corrupt." 

This  verdict  was  of  course  an  acquittal,  but  the  Recorder  re- 
fused to  receive  it ;  whereupon  the  jury  "  turned  their  backs 
upon  themselves,"  and  having  first  declared  on  their  oaths  that 
she  was  not  guilty  of  wilful  and  corrupt  perjury,  declared  on 
the  same  oaths  that  she  vms.  And  to  complete  the  mass  of 
absurdity  and  contradiction,  some  of  the  jury  afterwards  made 
an  affidavit  that  they  believed  Canning's  story  in  the  main, 
but  found  her  guilty  because  they  thought  there  was  some 
discrepancy  as  to  the  day  on  which  she  had  exhausted  Iier 
pitcher  of  water. 

Of  the  court,  which,  as  llicn  ronstilulod,  consist ed  of  a  mixed 


330  JUDICFAI.    I'l  ZZLES. 

Ixxly  of  jud^'os  and  city  magistrates,  uiiio  members  were  for 
conduinniii^f  the  ])risoner  to  transportation  for  seven  years,  and 
eight  for  inflicting  only  a  sliort  period  of  imprisonment, 
so  evenly  were  opinions  divided.  She  was  accordingly  trans- 
ported. The  sym])athy  and  compassion  which  had  been  ex- 
cited by  her  case  did  not  cease.  A  considerable  sum  of  money 
was  collected  for  her.  After  the  termination  of  her  sentence 
she  returned  to  England,  and  the  last  notice  we  find  of  her  is 
the  following,  which  is  contained  in  the  'Annual  Register'  for 
1761,  p.  179  :  "  Elizabeth  Canning  is  arrived  in  England,  and 
received  a  legacy  of  £500,  left  her  three  years  ago  by  an  old 
lady  of  Newington  Green."  Wells  returned  to  Enfield,  where 
she  died,  as  appears  by  the  parish  register,  on  tlie  oth  of  Oc- 
tober 1763.  AVhat  became  of  the  gypsy  we  know  not.  Thus 
ends  the  case  of  Elizabeth  Canning — a  case  eminently  fitted 
to  give  occasion  to  the  warmest,  most  eager,  and  most  confi- 
dent partisanship,  inasmuch  as  it  is  almost  impossible,  after 
the  coolest  and  most  deliberate  examination,  to  say  to  which 
side  the  balance  of  evidence  inclines. 


837 


II. 

THE    CAMPDEN   WONDER.^ 

The  little  market-town  of  Chipping-Campden  lies  on  the  verge 
of  the  Cotswold  Hills.  It  is  a  quaint  old  place,  formed  of  one 
straggling  street  of  low-gabled  houses,  with  an  ancient  market- 
house  in  the  middle.  The  ruins  of  Campden  House,  built  in 
the  year  1612  by  Sir  Baptist  Hickes  (the  princely  merchanl 
who  erected  Hickes's  Hall,  and  gave  it  to  the  county  of  Mid- 
dlesex), remain  a  monument  of  the  loyalty  of  his  grandson, 
Baptist  Lord  Noel,  who  burnt  his  magnificent  mansion  to  pre- 
vent it  from  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  Parliament  troops. 

Eailroads  have  only  lately  traversed  this  out-of-the-way  part 
of  England.  It  is  not  on  the  highroad  to  anywhere,  and  though 
the  country  around  possesses  beauties  peculiarly  its  own,  it  has 
never  been  frequented  by  tourists.  It  is  best  known  by  the 
love  which  Shakespeare  evidently  bore  to  it.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  that  it  was  the  haunt  of  his  boyhood.  When  Slender 
taunts  Master  Page  by  telling  him  that  he  hears  his  "  fallow 
greyhound  was  outrun  on  Cotswold,"  we  may  be  sure  that  many 
a  course  on  those  wide  and  then  open  downs  must  have  risen 
to  Shakespeare's  recollection.  It  is  here,  too,  that  he  places 
tliat  pleasant  arbour  in  Justice  Shallow's  orchard,  where  he  ate 
"a  last  year's  pippen  of  his  own  grafhng  with  a  dish  of  carra- 
ways,  and  so  forth,"  with  Falstaff  and  his  "  cousin  Silence."  It 
was  "  a  goodly  dwelling  and  a  rich."  Cousin  Silence  was,  we 
have  no  doubt,  a  Campden  man,  and  trolled  out  his  fragments 
of  carols  at  the  little  bowling-green  there.  Shakespeare  tells 
us  that  he  was  a  townsman.  "  Is  old  Double  of  your  town  liv- 
ing yet  ?"    Old  Double,  who  is  immortal  because  he  died.    "  See, 

'  Blackwood's  jMagazine,    Tiily  ISGO. 


338  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

sec  ! — he  drew  a  good  l)ow.  And  dead  ! — he  shot  a  fine  shoot. 
Jolin  of  Gaunt  loved  him  well,  and  betted  much  money  on  his 
head.  Dead  !  How  a  score  of  good  cwcs  now?  And  is  old 
Double  dead  ?" 

He  probably  acquired  the  skill  as  an  archer,  which  endeared 
him  to  "John  of  Gaunt,"  at  those  games  on  Dover's  Hill,  in  the 
immediate  neighbourhood,  which  were  celebrated  by  Ben  Jon- 
son,  and  which  were  held  there  annually  until  a  few  years  ago. 
"  Will  Squele,"  too,  was  a  "  Cotswold  man."  Shakespeare  must 
liave  loved  the  place,  or  he  never  would  have  coined  so  endear- 
ing a  name.  Who  has  not  a  kindly  feeling  towards  Will  Squele  ? 
The  commentators  have  puzzled  themselves  greatly  after  their 
usual  fashion,  and  have  devised  ingenious  and  improbable  rea- 
sons why  Falstaff's  tailor  should  be  one  "  Master  Dombledon." 
They  have  sought  for  abstruse  meanings  in  the  name,  stupidly 
fancying  that  it  was  originally  w^ritten  Doubledone,  and  implied 
a  double  charge.  It  is  simply  the  name  of  a  hill  a  few  miles 
beyond  Campden,  and  the  use  of  it  affords  an  additional  proof 
of  Shakespeare's  familiarity  with  the  country. 

This  little  town  was,  in  the  year  1660,  the  scene  of  a  tragedy 
so  extraordinary  that  it  is  still  remembered  by  the  name  of 
"  The  Campden  Wonder." 

On  the  16th  of  August  in  that  year,  an  old  man  of  the  name 
of  William  Harrison,  who  was  steward  to  Lady  Campden,  and 
resided  in  the  part  of  Campden  House  which  still  remained 
habitable,  went  on  foot  to  Charringworth,  a  village  about  two 
miles  distant,  to  receive  some  rents.  He  did  not  return  so  soon 
as  was  expected,  and  his  wife,  feeling  some  alarm  at  his  ab- 
sence, sent  his  servant,  John  Perry,  to  meet  him  about  eight 
or  nine  o'clock.  Neither  Peny  nor  his  master  returning  that 
night,  the  son  of  the  latter  set  out  early  in  the  morning  in 
search  of  his  father.  On  his  way  towards  Charringworth  he 
met  Perry,  who  told  him  that  his  father  was  not  at  that  place, 
and  they  went  together  in  search  of  him  to  Ebriugton  (a  village 
between  Campden  and  Charringworth),  where  they  were  in- 
formed that  Harrison  had  called  the  evening  before  at  the 
house  of  a  man  of  the  name  of  Daniel,  on  his  return  from 
Charringworth,  but  had  almost  immediately  proceeded  on  his 


THE   CAMPDEN   WONDER.  339 

way  towards  Campden.  This  was  the  last  they  could  hear  of 
the  old  man.  But  in  the  mean  time  a  hat  and  comb,  much 
hacked  and  cut,  and  a  band  stained  M'itli  blood,  which  was 
recognised  as  having  been  worn  by  him  on  tliat  night,  were 
found  in  a  wild  spot,  near  a  large  furze  brake,  between  Ebring- 
ton  and  Campden.  The  report  immediately,  and  very  natu- 
rally, arose  that  Mr  Harrison  had  been  waylaid,  robbed,  and 
murdered,  and  the  whole  population  of  the  town  turned  out  to 
search  for  his  body.  Their  search  was  in  vain  :  no  trace  of  it 
could  be  discovered.  Suspicion  fell  upon  John  Perry.  The 
spot  where  the  hat  was  found  was  just  where  he  would  have 
been  likely  to  have  met  him  on  his  return.  He  knew  that  he 
was  going  to  receive  a  considerable  sum  of  money.  His  mas- 
ter had  left  Ebrington  safe.  Perry's  absence  during  the  whole 
of  the  night  was  suspicious.  The  natural  thing  would  have 
been,  had  he  failed  to  meet  his  master,  that  he  should  have 
returned  at  once  to  Campden.  He  was  taken  into  custody, 
and  the  next  day  was  brought  before  a  justice  of  peace.  The 
account  he  gave  was,  that  he  had  started  on  his  way  towards 
Charringworth,  immediately  upon  receiving  his  mistress's  or- 
ders to  do  so  :  that  after  going  a  short  distance,  he  met  a  man 
of  the  name  of  Reed,  and,  feeling  afraid  to  go  on  in  the  dark, 
had  returned  with  him  to  Campden  :  that  he  had  started  again 
with  one  Pearce,  and,  after  going  a  short  distance,  had  again 
returned.  That  he  then  went  into  the  hen-roost,  where  he  re- 
mained till  about  twelve  o'clock,  when,  the  moon  having  risen, 
he  took  courage  and  again  set  out ;  but  a  mist  rising,  he  lost 
his  way,  and  lay  under  a  hedge  till  morning,  when  he  went  on 
to  Charringworth,  and  inquired  for  his  master  of  one  Edward 
Plaisterer,  who  told  him  that  he  had  paid  him  twenty-three 
pounds  the  afternoon  previous.  That  he  made  further  inqui- 
ries, but  without  success ;  and  on  his  return  home  about  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  met  his  master's  son.  This  account, 
which  was  confirmed  by  the  three  men  he  referred  to,  was  not 
considered  satisfactory,  and,  after  remaining  in  custody  about 
a  week,  Perry  expressed  a  desire  to  be'taken  before  the  justice, 
to  whom  he  said  he  would  disclose  what  he  would  discover  to 
no  one  else. 


340  .IUDICIA[>    PnzZF.ES. 

lie  tlica  siiid  that,  ever  since  lie  had  Ijeen  in  lii.s  master's 
sciTicc,  his  mother  and  his  brothel'  had  been  urging  him  to 
join  them  in  robbing  him.  That  their  scheme  was  to  waylay 
him  on  his  return  from  receiving  the  rents.  That  he  had 
accordingly  informed  his  brother,  on  the  morning  of  the  day 
when  Mr  Harrison  went  to  Charringworth,  of  the  errand  upon 
which  he  had  gone.  That  on  the  same  evening,  immediately 
after  he  had  received  his  mistress's  orders,  he  met  his  brother, 
and  they  went  together  towards  Charring^Avorth.  That  he 
watched  his  master,  on  his  return,  go  into  a  field  called  the 
Conygree,  through  which  a  private  path,  which  lie  was  in  the 
habit  of  using,  led  to  his  house.  That  he  told  his  brother  that 
"  if  he  followed  him  he  might  have  his  money,  and  he  in  the 
mean  time  would  walk  a  turn  in  the  fields."  That  soon  after- 
wards following  his  brother,  he  found  his  master  on  the  ground 
in  the  middle  of  the  •  field,  his  brother  upon  him,  and  his 
mother  standing  by.  That  his  master  was  not  then  dead,  for 
he  exclaimed,  "  Ah,  rogues !  will  you  kill  me  ? "  That  he 
begged  his  brother  not  to  kill  him  ;  but  he  replied,  "  Peace, 
peace !  you  are  a  fool," — and  strangled  him.  That  liis  brother 
took  a  bag  of  money  out  of  his  master's  pocket,  and  threw  it 
into  his  mother's  lap ;  that  they  then  carried  the  body  into 
the  garden,  intending  to  throw  it  into  a  large  sink ;  that  he 
left  it  in  the  garden  and  went  to  watch  and  listen,  whilst,  as 
he  believed,  his  mother  and  brother  put  the  body  into  the 
sink ;  but  whether  they  did  so  or  not,  he  could  not  positively 
say.  That  going  back  into  the  town  he  met  Pearce,  and  went 
with  him  towards  Charringworth,  as  he  had  before  stated. 
That  he  then  returned  to  the  hen-roost,  and  taking  his  master's 
hat,  band,  and  comb,  he  cut  them  with  his  knife,  and  threw 
them  in  the  road  where  they  were  found. 

Upon  this,  strict  search  was  made  for  the  body,  not  only 
in  the  place  which  Perry  had  mentioned,  but  in  all  ponds 
in  the  neighbourhood,  and  amongst  the  ruins  of  Campden 
House, — but  in  vain.  Joan  and  Eichard  Perry,  the  mother  and 
brother  of  John,  were  taken  into  custody.  They  vehemently 
protested  their  innocence,  and  upbraided  John  for  his  false- 
hood.    He  still,  however,  stuck  to  his  story,  and  retorted  upon 


THE    CAMPDEN    WONDER.  341 

them  with  bitter  reproaches  for  having  urged  him  to  the  com- 
mission of  so  horrible  a  crime — affirming  that  he  had  spokeu 
nothing  but  the  truth,  and  declaring  that  he  was  ready  to 
justify  it  to  his  death. 

Immediately  after  the  examination  of  the  prisoners  before 
the  magistrate,  a  very  remarkable  circumstance  occurred. 
They  were  removed  separately,  and  of  course  in  custody,  John 
being  some  distance  in  advance  of  Eichard.  The  latter,  "  pull- 
ing a  clout  out  of  his  pocket,  dropped  a  ball  of  inkle,  which 
one  of  his  guard  taking  up,  he  desired  him  to  restore,  saying 
it  was  only  his  wife's  hair-lace."  The  constable  finding  a 
noose  at  the  end  of  it,  and  feeling  some  suspicion,  took  it  to 
John  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  anything  of  it,  on  which  John 
shook  his  head  and  said,  "  Yea,  to  his  sorrow  ;  for  that  was  the 
string  his  brother  strangled  his  master  with." 

Unfortunately,  the  only  narrative  which  exists  of  this  singu- 
lar case  diverges  at  this  point  into  matters  irrelevant  to  the 
main  issue ;  but  at  the  spring  assizes  following,  after  an  inter- 
val of  something  more  than  six  months,  the  three  Perrys  were 
tried  for  the  murder.  Up  to  this  time  John  Terry  had  per- 
sisted in  his  story.  On  the  trial,  however,  he,  like  his  mother 
and  brother,  pleaded  not  guilty,  and  when  his  confession  was 
proved,  alleged  that  he  was  "  then  mad,  and  knew  nut  what  he 
said." 

We  are  left  in  ignorance  what  evidence,  beyond  the  confes- 
sion of  John,  was  produced  at  the  trial.  That  there  must  have 
been  some  is  clear,  as  that  confession,  though  evidence  against 
John,  was  none  against  his  mother  or  Eicliard.  All  three 
were  convicted,  and  a  few  days  afterwards  hanged,  on  Broad- 
way Hill,  within  sight  of  the  town  of  Campden. 

As  Joan  Perry  was  suspected  to  be  a  witch,  and  was  sup- 
posed to  have  bewitched  her  sons  so  as  to  prevent  them  from 
confessing,  she  was  hanged  first.  "  After  which  Pilchard,  being 
upon  the  ladder,  professed,  as  he  had  done  all  along,  that  he 
was  wholly  innocent  of  the  fact  for  which  lie  was  then  to  die  ; 
and  that  he  knew  nothing  of  Mr  Harrison's  death,  nor  what 
was  become  of  him ;  and  did  with  great  earnestness  beg  and 
beseech  his  brother  (for  the  satisfaction  uf  the  whole  world 


342  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

and  liis  own  conscience)  to  declare  what  lie  knew  concerning 
him ;  but  he,  with  a  dogged  and  surly  carriage,  told  the  i)eople 
ho  was  not  obliged  to  confess  to  them  ;  yet  immediately  before 
his  death  he  said,  he  knew  notliing  of  his  master's  death,  nor 
what  was  become  of  him,  but  they  might  hereafter  possibly 
hear." 

John  Perry  was  hanged  in  chains  upon  a  gibbet  jjaced  on 
the  Broadway  Hill. 

Some  years  afterwards  Mr  Harrison  returned  to  Campden. 
The  account  he  gave  of  the  cause  of  his  disappearance,  and  of 
his  adventures  during  the  period  of  his  absence,  in  a  letter  to 
Sir  Thomas  Overbury  of  Bourton  (the  nephew  and  heir  of 
the  unhappy  victim  of  the  infamous  Countess  of  Somerset),  is 
so  curious  that  we  give  it  entire.^ 

"  Honoured  Sik, — In  obedience  to  your  commands,  I  give 
you  this  true  account  of  my  being  carried  away  beyond  the 
seas,  my  coutinuance  there,  and  return  home.  Ou  a  Tlmrsday, 
in  the  afternoon,  in  the  time  of  harvest,  I  went  to  Charring- 
worth  to  demand  rents,  due  to  my  Lady  Campden ;  at  which 
time  the  tenants  were  busy  in  the  fields,  and  late  ere  they 
came  home,  which  occasioned  my  stay  there  till  the  close  of 
the  evening.  I  expected  a  considerable  sum,  but  received 
only  three-and-twenty  pounds,  and  no  more.  In  my  return 
home  (in  the  narrow  passage,  amongst  Ebrington  fui'zes),  there 
met  me  one  horseman,  and  said,  '  Art  thou  there  ? '  and  I,  fear- 
ing that  he  would  have  rid  over  me,  struck  his  horse  over  the 
nose ;  whereupon  he  struck  at  me  with  his  sword  several 
blows,  and  ran  it  into  my  side,  while  I  (with  my  little  cane) 
made  my  defence  as  well  as  I  could.  At  last  another  came 
behind  me,  nm  me  into  the  thigh,  laid  hold  on  the  collar  of 
my  doublet,  and  drew  me  to  a  hedge  near  to  the  place ;  then 
came  in  another.  They  did  not  take  my  money,  but  mounted 
me  beliind  one  of  them,  drew  my  arms  about  his  middle,  and 
fastened  my  wrists  together  with  something  that  had  a  spring- 
lock  to  it,  as  I  conceived,  by  hearing  it  give  a  snap  as  they 
put  it  on ;  then  they  threw  a  great  cloak  over  me,  and  con- 

'  14  State  Trials,  1313^uote  to  the  case  of  Captain  Green. 


THE    CAMPDEN    WONDER.  343 

veyed  me  away.  In  the  night  they  alighted  at  a  hay-rick 
which  stood  near  unto  a  stone  pit  by  a  wall-side,  where  they 
took  away  my  money.  About  two  hours  before  day  (as  I 
heard  one  of  them  tell  the  other  he  thought  it  to  be  then), 
they  tumbled  me  into  the  stone  pit.  They  stayed  (as  I  thought) 
about  an  hour  at  the  hay-rick,  when  they  took  horse  a^ain. 
One  of  them  bade  me  come  out  of  the  pit ;  I  answered  they 
had  my  money  already,  and  asked  what  they  would  do  with 
me ;  whereupon  he  struck  me  again,  drew  me  out,  and  jjut  a 
great  quantity  of  money  into  my  pockets,  and  mounted  me 
again  after  the  same  manner ;  and  on  the  Friday,  about  sun- 
setting,  they  brought  me  to  a  lone  house  upon  a  heath  (by  a 
thicket  of  bushes),  where  they  took  me  down  almost  dead, 
being  sorely  bruised  with  the  carriage  of  the  money.  When 
the  woman  of  the  house  saw  that  I  could  neither  stand  nor 
speak,  she  asked  them  whether  or  no  they  had  brought  a  dead 
man  ?  They  answered  No,  but  a  friend  that  was  hurt,  and 
they  were  carrying  him  to  a  chirurgeon.  She  answered  if  they 
did  not  make  haste,  their  friend  would  be  dead  before  they 
could  bring  him  to  one.  Then  they  laid  me  on  cushions,  and 
suffered  none  to  come  into  the  room  but  a  little  girl.  There 
we  stayed  all  night,  they  giving  me  some  broth  and  strong 
waters ;  and  in  the  morning,  very  early,  they  mounted  me 
as  before,  and  on  Saturday  night  they  brought  me  to  a  place 
where  were  two  or  three  houses,  in  one  of  which  I  lay  all  night 
on  cushions  by  their  bedside.  On  Sunday  morning  they  carried 
me  from  thence,  and  about  three  or  four  o'clock  they  brought 
me  to  a  place  by  the  sea-side,  called  Deal,  where  they  laid  me 
down  on  the  ground ;  and  one  of  them  staying  by  me,  the 
other  two  walked  a  little  off  to  meet  a  man,  with  wliom  they 
talked,  and  in  their  discourse  I  heard  them  mention  seven 
pounds ;  after  which  they  went  away  togetlier,  and  about  half 
an  hour  after  returned.  The  man  (whose  name,  as  I  after 
heard,  was  Wrenshaw)  said  he  feared  I  would  die  before  he 
could  get  me  on  board.  Then  presently  they  put  me  into  a 
boat,  and  carried  me  on  shipboard,  where  my  wounds  were 
dressed.  I  remained  in  the  ship  (as  near  as  I  could  reckon) 
about  six  weeks,  in  which  time  I  was  indiirercntly  recovered 


344  JUDICIAL    ruzzLKs. 

of  my  wimnds  and  weakness.     Then  llie  master  of  llie  ship 
eanu!  iuul  tohl  nic  (and  the  rest  wlio  were  in  tlie  same  condi- 
tion) that  he  discovered  three  Turkish  ships.     We  all  oflercd 
to  fight  in  the  defence  of  the  ship  and  ourselves,  but  he  com- 
manded us  to  keep  close,  and  said  he  would  deal  with  them 
well  enough.     A  little  while  after  he  called  us  up,  and  when 
we  came  on  the  deck  we  saw  two  Turkish  ships  close  by  us ; 
into  one  of  them  we  were  put,  and  placed  in  a  dark  hole, 
wliere,  how  long  we  continued  before  we  landed,  I  know  not. 
Wlicn  we  were  landed  they  led  us  two  days'  journey,  and  put 
us  into  a  great  house  or  prison,  where  we  remained  four  days 
and  a  half ;  and  then  came  to  us  eight  men  to  view  us,  who 
seemed  to  be  officers ;  they  called  us,  and  examined  us  of  our 
trades  and  callings,  which  every  one  answered.     One  said  he 
was  a  chirurgeon,  another  that  he  was  a  broadcloth  weaver, 
and  I  (after  two  or  three  demands)  said  I  had  some  skill  in 
physic.     We  three  were  sot  by,  and  taken  by  three  of  those 
eight  men  that  came  to  view  us.     It  was  my  chance  to  be 
chosen  by  a  grave  physician  of  eighty-seven  years  of  age,  who 
lived  near  Smirna,  who  had  formerly  been  in  England,  and 
knew  Crowland  in  Lincolnshire,  which  he  preferred  before  all 
other  places  in  England.     He  employed  me  to  keep  his  still- 
house,  and  gave  me  a  silver  bowl,  double  gilt,  to  drink  in.    My 
business  was  most  in  that  place  ;  but  once  he  set  me  to  gather 
cotton  wool,  which  I  not  doing  to  his  mind,  he  struck  me 
down  to  the  ground,  and  after  drew  his  stiletto  to  stab  me ; 
but  I,  holding  up  my  hands  to  him,  he  gave  a  stamp,  and 
turned  from  me,  for  which  I  render  thanks  to  my  Lord  and 
Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  who  stayed  his  hand  and  presen'ed  me. 
I  was  there  about  a  year  and  three-quarters,  and  then  my 
master  fell  sick  on  a  Thursday,  and  sent  for  me,  and  calling 
me,  as  he  used,  by  the  name  of  Boll,  told  me  he  should  die, 
and  bade  me  shift  for  myself.     He  died  on  Saturday  follow- 
ing, and  I  presently  hastened  with  my  bowl  to  a  port  almost  a 
day's  journey  distant,  the  way  to  which  place  I  knew,  having 
been  twice  there,  employed  by  my  master  about  the  carriage 
of  his  cotton  wool.     When  I  came  thither,  I  addressed  myself 
to  two  men  who  came  out  of  a  ship  of  Hamborough,  which  (as 


THE    CAMPDEN    WONDEK.  345 

they  said)  was  bound  for  Portugal  within  three  or  four  days. 
I  inquired  of  them  for  an  English  ship  ;  they  answered  there 
was  none.  I  intreated  them  to  take  me  into  their  ship  ;  they 
answered,  they  durst  not,  for  fear  of  Leing  discovered  by  the 
searchers,  which  might  occasion  the  forfeiture,  not  only  of 
their  goods,  but  also  of  their  lives.  I  was  very  importunate 
with  them,  but  could  not  prevail ;  they  left  me  to  wait  on 
Providence,  which  at  length  brought  another  out  of  the  same 
ship,  to  whom  I  made  known  my  condition,  craving  his  assist- 
ance for  my  transportation :  he  made  me  the  like  answer  as 
the  former,  and  was  as  stiff  in  his  denial,  till  the  sight  of  my 
bowl  put  him  to  a  pause.  He  returned  to  the  ship,  and  after 
half  an  hour's  space  he  came  back  again,  accompanied  with 
another  seaman,  and  for  my  bowl  undertook  to  transport  me  ; 
but  told  me  I  must  be  contented  to  lie  down  in  the  keel,  and 
endure  much  hardship,  which  I  was  content  to  do,  to  gain  my 
liberty.  So  they  took  me  aboard,  and  placed  me  below  in  the 
vessel,  in  a  very  uneasy  place,  and  obscured  me  with  boards 
and  other  things,  where  I  lay  undiscovered,  notwithstanding 
the  strict  searcli  that  was  made  in  the  vessel.  ^ly  two  chap- 
men, who  had  my  bowl,  honestly  furnished  me  with  victuals 
daily  until  we  arrived  at  Lisbon,  in  Portugal,  where  (as  soon 
as  the  master  liad  left  the  ship,  and  was  gone  into  the  city) 
they  set  me  on  shore,  moneyless,  to  shift  for  myself  I  knew 
not  what  course  to  take,  but,  as  Providence  led  me,  I  went  up 
into  the  city,  and  came  into  a  fair  street  ;  and  being  weary,  I 
turned  my  back  to  a  wall,  and  leaned  upon  my  staff.  Over 
against  me  were  four  gentlemen  discoursing  together  :  after  a 
while,  one  of  them  came  to  me,  and  sjmke  to  me  in  a  language 
that  I  understood  not.  I  told  him  I  was  an  Englishman,  and 
understood  not  what  he  spake.  He  answered  me  in  plain 
English,  that  he  understood  me,  and  was  himself  born  near 
Wisbech,  in  Lincolnshire  :  then  I  related  to  him  my  sad  con- 
dition ;  and  he,  taking  compassion  on  me,  took  me  with  him, 
provided  for  me  lodging  and  diet,  and  by  his  interest  with  a 
master  of  a  ship  bound  for  England,  procured  my  passage ;  and 
bringing  me  on  shipboard,  he  bestowed  wine  and  strong  waters 
on  nio,  and,  at  his  return,  gave  me  eight  stivers,  and  com- 


34G  JUDIC'IAI.    IM'ZZLES. 

mended  mc  to  the  care  of  tlu;  master  of  the  ship,  who  landed 
me  safe  at  Dover,  from  whence  1  made  sliift  to  get  to  I^jiidon, 
where,  being  furnislied  with  necessaries,  I  came  into  the 
country. 

"  Thus,  lionoured  sir,  I  have  given  you  a  true  account  of  my 
sufferings,  and  happy  deliverance  by  the  mercy  and  goodness 
of  God,  my  most  gracious  Father  in  Jesus  Christ,  my  Saviour 
and  lledeemer,  to  whose  name  be  ascribed  all  honour,  praise, 
and  glory.  I  conclude,  and  rest,  your  worships,  in  all  dutiful 
respect,  William  Harrison." 

It  is  dillicult  to  say  what  amount  of  credence  should  be  given 
to  this  extraordinary  narrative.  On  the  one  hand  it  appears 
impossible  to  assign  a  sufficient  motive  for  kidnapping  the 
old  man.  The  persons  who  attacked  him  would  have  been 
exposed  to  far  less  danger  of  detection  had  they  either  mur- 
dered him  at  once,  or  left  him  to  take  his  chance  of  life  in  the 
stone  pit  after  the  robbery  ;  and  much  profit  was  not  likely  to 
accrue  from  the  sale  of  the  old  man  as  a  slave.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  country  \vas  at  that 
time  in  a  disturbed  staie,  and  that  the  risk  of  detection  must 
not  be  estimated  by  what  it  would  be  at  the  present  day ;  that 
kidnapping  was  not  an  uncommon  crime  ;  and  that  no  other 
mode  of  accounting  for  Harrison's  disappearance  has  ever  been 
suggested.  But  be  this  story  true  or  not,  the  fact  that  he  had 
not  been  murdered  is  unquestionable.  The  innocence  of  the 
Perrys  of  the  crime  for  w'hich  they  had  suflered  death  was 
established  beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt ;  and  we  have  to 
deal  wdth  the  fact,  a  startling  one  certainly,  that  John  Perry 
not  only  sacrificed  the  lives  of  two  persons  with  whom  he  was 
closely  connected,  but  his  own  also,  to  a  falsehood  which  he 
had  no  motive  whatever  for  committing. 

This  opens  one  of  the  darkest  and  strangest  pages  in  the  liis- 
tory  of  human  nature.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  was  a 
victim  of  that  remarkable  form  of  mental  disease  which  in- 
duces the  sufferer  to  charge  himself  and  others  with  imaginaiy 
crimes — a  malady  far  more  common  than  ordinary  observers 
suppose.     From  the  earliest  periods  as  to  which  we  have  any 


THE   CAMPDEN   WONDEK.  347 

records  down  to  the  present  day,  this  terrible  disease  has  from 
time  to  time  presented  itself  under  various  forms.  The  purest 
minds  and  the  highest  intellects  have  suffered  from  it  no  less 
than  the  ignorant  and  the  degraded.  Indeed,  it  would  seem 
as  if  those  minds  which  are  most  delicately  strung,  and  tuned 
to  the  most  refined  sensibility,  are  peculiarly  liable  to  its  attack. 
Few  men  probably  have  led  so  pure  and  innocent  a  life,  or  one 
which  afforded  so  little  ground  for  self-reproval,  as  the  poet 
Cowper ;  yet  he  has  told  us  that  "  the  sense  of  sin  and  the  ex- 
pectation of  punishment,"  the  "  feeling  that  he  had  committed 
a  crime  " — he  knew  not  what — was  ever  present  to  his  mind. 

There  is  one  incident  of  this  disease,  with  regard  to  wdiich 
those  who  (as  has  been  the  case  with  ourselves  in  more  in- 
stances than  one)  are  brought  into  contact  with  the  sufferer 
should  be  especially  upon  their  guard.  So  thoroughly  is  he 
convinced  of  the  trutli  of  his  story,  he  narrates  it  with  such 
earnestness  and  simplicity,  that  unless  some  circumstance  has 
occurred  to  put  the  listener  upon  liis  guard,  it  is  next  to  im- 
possible for  him  to  refuse  his  assent  to  its  truth.  As  one,  who 
has  left  a  record  of  the  impressions  produced  on  his  own  mind 
during  the  prevalence  of  delusion,  has  told  us,  "  of  the  two, 
the  apj)earance  of  the  bed,  w^alls,  and  furniture  of  his  room  was 
false,  710 1  his  preternatural  impressions,"  ^  it  follows,  from  this 
strong  internal  conviction,  that  nothing  surprises  or  startles 
the  sufferers.  When  John  Perry  was  shown  the  cord  which 
fell  from  his  brother's  pocket,  had  he  been  fabricating  a  story 
he  would  have  paused  to  consider  what  he  should  say,  and 
would  very  probably  have  been  betrayed  into  a  contradiction 
or  an  inconsistency.  But  his  diseased  imagination  at  once 
seized  upon  the  circumstance  as  food  for  the  delusion  willi 
which  his  mind  was  impressed,  and  wove  it  into  the  narrative 
in  a  manner  which  bore  the  closest  possible  resemblance  to 
actual  truth,  because  to  his  mind  it  was  truth. 

A  case  which,  in  some  of  its  features,  bore  a  striking  resem- 
blance to  that  of  the  Perrys,  is  recorded  as  having  happened 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Calais,  nearly  a  century  earlier. 

A  woman  disappeared,  and  suspicion  arose  that  she  had 

^  Narrative  of  the  Treatment  of  a  Gentleman  tlurin<'  Deraii'rement,  03.    1838. 


348  JUDK  lAI.    I'UZZLES. 

IxHMi  iiuulc  iiway  willi.  A  man  was  found  liiikiii^'  in  a  wood 
in  the  neighbourhood,  and,  betraying  symptoms  of  fear  and 
apprehension,  lie  was  arrested  on  suspicion  of  having  mur- 
dered lier,  confessed  tlie  crime,  and  was  executed.  In  two 
years  the  woman  returned.  The  heir  of  the  unhapjjy  sufferer 
sued  the  judge  who  had  condemned  him  for  damages.  Tliey 
ought  not,  it  was  argued,  to  have  condemned  any  one  for  the 
murder  until  the  body  had  been  found,  or  its  absence  satisfac- 
torily accounted  for ;  in  other  words  until  the  corpus  delicti 
had  been  proved^ — a  principle  well  known  to  our  law,  and 
acted  upon,  in  the  first  instance,  in  the  case  of  the  Perrys, 
whom  Sir  Christopher  Turner  refused  to  try  at  the  assizes  im- 
mediately following  their  apprehension,  on  this  very  ground. 
How  the  difficulty  was  got  over  afterwards  does  not  appear. 

It  is  like  calling  up  spirits  from  the  dead  to  open  the  stained 
and  faded  pages  of  the  old  reporters  of  the  proceedings  in  the 
Parliament  of  Paris,  or  the  equally  interesting  records  of  trials 
in  our  own  country,  and  to  read  the  harangues  of  forgotten 
advocates  upon  interests  long  gone  by,  passions  long  burnt 
out,  and  superstitions  which  the  world  has  outgrown.  Nothing 
is  more  curious  and  interesting  than  to  note  how,  through  each 
change  of  circumstance  and  opinion,  the  human  mind  remains 
the  same,  and  to  observe  the  mode  in  which  its  delusions  shape 
and  accommodate  themselves  to  the  prevailing  belief  of  the 
day,  or  the  particular  circumstances  by  which  the  patient  is 
surrounded. 

In  tlie  year  1662,  the  parish  of  Aulderne,  about  midway 
between  Cawdor  and  Forres  (the  scene  of  ]Macbeth's  inter- 
view with  the  witches),  witnessed  a  very  remarkable  display 
of  the  former  kind.  "  Master  Ilarie  Forbes  "  the  minister  of 
the  parish,  "William  Dallas  the  Sheriff-Depute,  and  the  other 
magnates  of  the  neigbourhood,  assembled  to  receive  the  full 
and  voluntary  confession  of  Isabell  Gowdie.  This  confession 
is  perhaps  the  most  curious  document  that  is  to  be  foimd 
relating  to  the  history  of  witchcraft.  We  certainly  know  of 
none  that  is  so  comprehensive.  It  is  a  compendium  of  the 
learning  on  that  very  curious  subject,  and  it  is  especially  valu- 

^  Auu£cus  Roliertus,  lib.  1,  c.  iv. 


THE    CAMPDEN    WONDER.  349 

aLle  for  the  internal  evidence  which  it  contains,  tliat  it  was 
vohmtaiy  and  sincere :  so  minute,  particular,  and  earnest  is  it, 
that  even  now  it  is  difficult  to  keep  in  mind  that  it  was  merely 
the  creation  of  a  diseased  brain. 

Isabell  first  met  the  devil  accidentally  between  the  farmlands 
of  Drumdewin  and  the  sea-shore,  but  he  prevailed  upon  her  to 
give  him  an  assignation  at  night  in  the  kirk  of  Alderne.  There 
they  met,  Isabell  being  accompanied  by  a  confidant,  one  Mar- 
garet Brodie.  The  devil  mounted  the  reader's  desk  with  a 
black  book  in  his  hand.  Isabell  renounced  her  baptism,  and 
putting  one  hand  on  the  top  of  her  head,  and  the  otlier  on  tlu^ 
sole  of  her  foot,  made  over  all  between  them  to  the  arch- 
enemy, who  thereupon  baptised  her  afresh  in  his  own  name. 
Nothing  more  occurred  at  this  interview,  but  it  was  not  long 
before  a  second  took  place,  the  details  of  which  we  must  pass 
over.  Isabell  was  now  wholly  given  up  to  the  devil,  and  slie 
and  her  neighbours  were  employed  by  him  in  the  commission  of 
crimes  of  different  kinds,  up  to  murder  itself.  She  enumerates 
those  who  constituted  her  company  or  "covin,"  to  use  the 
technical  name  ;  and,  curiously  enough,  the  truth  of  her  con- 
fessions is  confirmed  by  one  at  least  of  her  supposed  accom- 
plices. There  is  a  wild  and  picturesque  imagination  about 
Isabell  Gowdie's  confessions,  which  is  not  often  found  in  such 
details.  When  she  describes  the  mode  that  was  adopted  to 
take  away  the  fruit  of  the  land,  she  rivals  the  grotesque  power 
of  Callot. 

"Before  Candlemas,"  she  says,  "  we  went  by  East  Kinloss, 
and  then  we  yoked  a  plewghe  of  paddokis.^  The  divill  held 
the  plewghe,  and  John  Younge  in  Mebestone,  our  officer,  did 
drywe  the  plewghe.  Paddokis  did  draw  the  plewghe  as  oxen  ; 
quickens  ^  were  somes  ;  ^  a  riglan's  •*  home  was  a  cowter  ;  and 
a  piece  of  a  riglan's  horn  was  a  sok.  We  went  two  several 
times  about ;  and  all  we  of  the  covin  went  still  u])  and  downe 
with  the  plewghe  praying  to  the  divill  for  tlie  fruit  of  tliat 
land,  and  that  thistles  and  briers  might  gi-ow  tliere." 

She  visited  Fairyland,  like  Thomas  the  Rhymer.  The 
Queen  of  Faerie  was  "brawli  clothed  in  whyte  linens,"  and  the 

'  Frogs.  '^  Twitch,  coudiginsH.         ^  Tracts.         <  A  ridgd  ram. 


350  JUDICIAL   PUZZLES. 

King  of  Faerie  was  a  "  Lraw  man,  weill-favoured  and  broad- 
faced,"  l)ut  she  was  "  adVijrhted  by  the  elf  bulls,  which  went 
up  and  downe  thair  rowtting  and  skoylling ;"  and  her  infor- 
mation as  to  that  terra  incognita  is  but  scanty. 

Isabcll's  confession  occupied  four  days  :  she  gives  at  length 
the  uncouth  rhymes  by  means  of  which  tempests  were  raised, 
which  enabled  her  to  lly  through  the  air  on  storms,  to  change  her 
form  for  that  of  a  bird,  a  cat,  a  hare,  or  any  other  animal  at  will. 
Her  amours  with  the  devil  she  details  with  marvellous  parti- 
cularity, and  recounts  one  by  one  the  murders  she  had  com- 
mitted at  his  instigation,  when  she  breaks  out  into  this  pas- 
sionate exclamation  :  "  Alace  !  I  deserve  not  to  be  sitting  liier, 
for  I  have  done  so  manie  evill  deedis,  especially  killing  of  men, 
I  deserve  to  be  rievin  upon  irin  harrowes,  and  worse  if  it  could 
be  devisit ! "  To  the  horror  of  "  Master  Harie  Forbes,"  he  was 
himself  the  subject  of  these  terrible  incantations.  His  life 
was  attempted  several  times. 

"  Margaret  Brodie  shot  at  INIr  Harie  Forbes  at  the  standing- 
stanes,  bot  she  missed,  and  speirit '  if  she  should  shoot  again  ? ' 
And  the  devil  said,  *  Not !  for  we  wold  nocht  get  his  lyfe  at 
that  tyme.'  We  intentit  several  tymes  for  him  quhan  he  was 
seik.  Bessie  Hay,  Jean  Martin  the  maiden,  Bessie  Wilson, 
Margaret  Brodie,  Elspeth  Neshie,  and  I  myself,  met  in  Bessie 
Wilsones  hows,  and  maid  an  bag  against  him.  The  bag  was 
maid  of  the  flesh,  guttis,  and  gallis  of  toadis,  the  liewer  of  an 
hear,  pickles  of  corn,  and  pairingis  of  naillis  of  fingers  and 
toes.  We  steepit  all  night  among  water.  The  divill  learned 
us  to  saye  the  wordis  following  at  the  making  of  the  bag : — 

"  *  He  is  lying  on  his  bedd,  and  he  is  seik  and  sair, 

Let  him  ly  iiitil  that  hcdd  monethes  two  and  dayes  thric  mair. 

He  sal  ly  intill  his  bedd,  he  sal  be  seik  and  sair, 

He  sal  Ij*  intill  his  bedd  monethes  two  and  days  thrie  niair. ' 

And  quhan  we  haid  said  thes  wordis,  we  wer  al  on  our  kneyis, 
our  hair  abowt  our  shoulderis  and  eyes,  holding  up  our  handis 
to  the  divill  that  it  might  destroy  the  said  Mr  Harie.  It  was 
intendit  that  we,  coming  into  his  chalmer  in  the  night-tym, 
sould  swing  it  on  him.  And  becaus  we  prevailed  not  at  that 
tym,  Bessie  Hay  undertook  and  cam  into  his  chalmer  to  wisit 


THE  CAMPDEN  WONDER.  351 

him,  being  werie  intimat  with  him,  and  she  brouglit  in  of  the 
bag  in  her  handis  full  of  the  oil  thereof,  to  have  swowng  and 
casten  droppis  of  it  on  him ;  bot  there  were  some  uther  worthie 
persons  with  him  at  the  tym,  by  qiihich  God  prevented  Bessie 
Hay  that  she  gat  no  harm  don  to  him,  bot  swang  a  litl  of  it  on 
the  bed  quhair  he  lay."  ^ 

The  confessions  conclude  with  a  minute  account  of  making 
the  image  of  a  child  of  clay  :  "  It  wanted  no  mark  of  the  imag 
of  a  bairn,  eyes,  nose,  mouth,  litle  lippes,  and  the  hands  of  it 
folded  down  by  its  sydis." 

Whilst  the  clay  which  formed  the  image  was  kneaded,  the 
devil  sat  on  a  black  "  kist,"  and  IsabeU  and  her  companions 
chanted  the  following  rhyme : — 

"  We  put  this  water  among  this  raeall, 
For  long  dwyning  and  ill  heall ; 
We  put  it  in  intill  the  fyr, 
To  burn  thern  up  both  stik  and  stour, 
That  he  burnt  with  our  will, 
As  onie  stikill  on  an  kill." 

This  image  represented  the  child  of  the  Laird  of  Parkis, 
"  As  it  was  rosted  eche  other  day  at  the  fyr,  som  tymes  on 
pairt  of  it,  somtymes  another,  the  bairn  would  be  burnt  and 
rosten,  even  as  it  was." — "  Each  day  we  wold  water  it,  and 
then  rost  and  bak  it,  and  turn  it  at  the  fyr,  each  other  day, 
till  that  bairn  died,  and  then  lay  it  up,  and  steired  it  not  un- 
till  the  next  bairn  was  borne ;  and  then  within  half  an  yeir 
efter  that  bairne  was  borne,  we  would  take  it  out  of  the  cradle, 
and  bak  it  and  rost  it  at  the  f}T,  until  that  bairn  died  also.- 

"  All  this  and  a  great  manie  mor  terrible  thingis  the  said 
witnesses  and  notar  heard  the  said  Isabell  confes,  and  most 
willingly  and  penitently  speak  furth  of  her  own  mouth." 

The  record  is  imperfect,  but  there  seems  no  reason  to  doubt 
that  Isabell  Gowdie  and  Janet  Breadheid  sufiered  at  tlie  stake. 

The  conviction  of  guilt  was  impressed  upon  their  minds  as 
vividly  as  it  was  upon  that  of  John  Perry,  nor  can  we  wonder 
at  the  eagerness  with  which  blaster  Harie  Forbes  and  his  con- 

'  Isabell  Gowdie's  fourth  confession. 

2  Confession  of  Janet  Breadheid.  — See  Pitcairn's  Criminal  Tri.ils,  iii.  app. 


352  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

ftiderate.^  pursued  those  uuhaj)py  women  to  tlie  death.  Sir 
George  Mackenzie  observes,  that  in  these  cases  "  the  accusers 
arc  masters  or  neighbours  wlio  had  tlicir  children  (h;ad,  and 
are  engaged  by  grief  to  suspect  these  i)oor  creatures.  I  knew  " 
(lie  says)  "  one  burnt  because  a  lady  was  jealous  of  her  with 
her  husband ;  and  the  crime  is  so  odious  that  they  are  never 
assisted  or  defended  by  their  relations.  The  witnesses  and 
assizes  are  afraid  that  if  they  escape  they  will  die  for  it,  and 
therefore  they  take  an  unwarrantable  latitude.  And  I  have 
observed  that  scarce  ever  any  who  were  accused  before  a  coun- 
try assize  of  neighbours  did  escape  that  trial."  ^ 

We  are  past  the  age  for  belief  in  witchcraft,  but  the  diseased 
imagination  which  formerly  manifested  itself  in  the  wild  de- 
lusions of  poor  Isabell  Gowdie,  now  forms  for  itself  a  creation 
far  more  dangerous,  because  its  phantoms  are  reconcilable  with 
the  ordinary  experience  of  the  world.  Within  the  last  two 
years  the  courts  at  Westminster  were  occupied  for  many  days 
in  the  investigation  of  a  charge  of  a  most  serious  nature, 
brought  against  a  physician  by  the  husband  of  one  of  his 
patients.^  The  lady  kept  a  journal,  in  which  she  noted  down 
with  the  utmost  minuteness  the  rise,  progress,  and  entire  his- 
tory of  an  overwhelming  and  passionate  attachment  between 
herself  and  the  doctor.  This  journal  came  to  the  husband's 
hands.  The  explosion  may  be  imagined.  The  husband  verj- 
naturally  instituted  proceedings  for  a  divorce.  When  the  trial 
came  on,  the  journal,  consisting  of  three  bulky  volumes,  and 
extending  over  a  period  of  five  years,  was  produced.  Nothing 
could  be  clearer,  more  explicit,  or  more  astounding,  than  the 
disclosures  it  contained.  But  there  was  not  a  particle  of  con- 
firmatory evidence  to  support  any  one  of  them ;  and  it  was 
established  beyond  a  doubt  that  the  lady,  though  apparently 
conducting  herself  like  other  people,  and  giving  no  external 
sign  of  disordered  intellect,  was  upon  this  particular  subject 
altogether  insane ;  that  the  doctor  was  innocent  throughout 
the  aftair,  and  wholly  unconscious  that  he  had  for  yeai'S  been 

*  Mackenzie's  Works,  ii.  87. 

-  Robinson  v.  llobinson  and  Lane  ;  Divorce  Court,  Tune  It,  1858,  to  March 
2,  18r>9.— See  Times,  July  6,  185S. 


THE    CAMPDEN    WONDER.  353 

made  the  hero  of  a  romance  rivalling  the  adventures  of  Faublas. 
This  disease  sometimes  assumes  a  form  even  more  danf^crous 
than  that  of  self-accusation.  A  crime  is  committed,  or  sup- 
posed to  liave  been  committed.  The  details  of  an  inquiry  of 
an  exciting  nature  fill  the  columns  of  the  press.  Presently 
the  imagination  fastens  upon  the  circumstances  as  they  are 
gradually  revealed,  and  the  unfortunate  patient  fancies  that  he 
has  been  a  witness  of  the  whole  transaction,  comes  forward 
believing  that  he  is  discharging  an  imperative  duty,  and  with 
all  the  clearness,  coolness,  and  certainty  which  characterise 
truth,  dej)ones  to  the  creation  of  his  heated  brain.  A  case  of 
this  kind  occurred  at  the  winter  assizes  at  Stafford,  in  the 
year  1857. 

The  body  of  a  girl  named  Elizabeth  Hopley  was  found  in 
the  canal  at  Bradley,  early  on  the  morning  of  the  30th  of 
April.  There  were  no  marks  of  violence.  About  ten  o'clock 
on  the  previous  evening  she  liad  left  the  house  of  her  aunt  for 
the  purpose  of  going  to  the  place  where  a  young  man,  to  whom 
she  was  engaged  to  be  married,  was  in  the  habit  of  work- 
ing. Her  road  led  past  the  place  where  her  body  was  found, 
and  it  was  supposed  that,  dazzled  by  the  light  of  some  coke- 
fires,  she  liad  missed  her  way,  and  fallen  over  the  low  wall  by 
which  the  canal  was  at  that  spot  very  insufficiently  guarded. 
About  three  weeks,  however,  after  the  girl's  death,  a  neighbour 
of  the  name  of  Samuel  Wall  declared  that  Elizabeth  liopley 
had  been  murdered,  and  that  he  had  been  present  when  tlie 
crime  was  committed.  A  day  or  two  afterwards  he  was  sum- 
moned before  the  magistrates,  A\hen  he  told  the  following  story. 
He  said  that  on  tlie  night  of  the  29th  of  April  he  was  on  duty 
as  a  private  watchman  on  some  premises  near  a  bridge  which 
crossed  the  railway ;  that  he  saw  two  persons,  a  man  and  a 
woman,  on  the  bridge,  and  heard  a  woman's  voice  say,  "  I'hilip, 
don't  kill  me  !  You  said  you  would  kill  me  before  ! "  That 
the  man  then  raised  his  hand  and  struck  the  woman  a  violent 
blow  on  the  head,  whicli  knocked  her  down.  Upon  this  he 
went  up,  and  instantly  recognised  the  man  as  one  Thilip  Clare, 
whom  he  well  knew.  He  exclaimed,  "  riiilip,  you'll  have  to 
sudor  fur  this  !  "     Clare  turned  round  and  replied,  "  If  you 

Z 


354  .lUDICIAI.    ITZZLES. 

speak,  I'll  serve  you  the  same  ! "  Clare  then  lifted  the  young 
woman  up  from  the  ground,  and,  followed  by  Wall,  carried  her 
over  tlic  railway  bridge,  and  down  a  road  past  some  cottages, 
until  ho  came  to  the  canal.  Here  he  paused,  and  turning 
round  again  upon  Wall,  said,  "  Now,  if  you  speak  or  tell  any 
one,  I  will  kill  you.  I  will  serve  you  the  same  way  as  I  served 
her,  and  set  some  one  else  to  watch  instead."  He  then,  in 
Wall's  presence,  plunged  the  woman,  who  still  seemed  help- 
less and  insensible,  into  the  canal,  close  to  the  spot  where, 
the  next  morning,  her  body  was  discovered. 

Wall  fixed  the  time  when  this  occurred  as  twenty  minutes 
after  midnight ;  and  it  must  be  remarked  that  he  was  employed 
as  a  watchman,  and  was  likely  to  be  habitually  observant  of 
time. 

He  said  that  he  returned  to  his  employer's  premises,  being 
prevented  by  his  fear  of  Clare  from  giving  any  alarm  ;  that 
after  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  elapsed,  Clare  came  to 
him  and  renewed  his  threats,  when,  terrified  by  the  apprehen- 
sion of  immediate  violence,  he  locked  himself  up  in  the  engine- 
house  until  daylight. 

Upon  this  statement,  Clare  was  taken  into  custody,  and  com- 
mitted for  trial.  At  his  trial  Wall  repeated  the  storj'  he  had 
told  the  magistrates.  There  was  a  total  absence  of  confirmation. 
It  was  met  by  proof  that  the  body  showed  no  sign  of  having  re- 
ceived any  blow  of  the  kind  described  by  Wall ;  that  there  had 
been  men  at  work  pumping  water  during  the  whole  night  in  the 
immediate  neighbourhood,  who  must,  in  all  probability,  have 
heard  something,  had  the  affair  taken  place  as  Wall  described. 
It  was  shown,  moreover,  that  from  half-past  six  until  about 
eleven  p.m.,  Clare  had  been  in  a  public-house  at  Bilston,  which 
he  left,  in  company  with  four  other  men,  one  of  whom  accom- 
panied him  till  within  half  a  mile  of  his  own  house.  Another 
witness,  a  neighbour,  proved  that  about  twelve  o'clock  he  met 
Clare,  and  entered  into  conversation  with  him  near  his  own 
door ;  that  they  remained  together  until  two  o'clock  the  next 
morning.  There  could  not  be  the  slightest  doubt  of  Clare's  inno- 
cence, and  the  jury,  of  course,  at  once  acquitted  him.  Nor  could 
there  be  any  doubt  that  Wall  believed  the  story  he  told.     The 


THE    CAMPDEN   WONDER.  355 

minuteness,  the  particularity,  the  graphic  details,  the  conver- 
sation, all  bear  the  stamp  of  that  subjective  truth,  which  our 
language  has  no  word  to  distinguish  from  objective  truth.  It 
is  curious  to  observe  in  how  many  respects  this  case  resem- 
bles that  of  John  Perry.  In  both  there  was  a  period  of  in- 
cubation, during  which  the  mind  brooded  in  silence  over  its 
creations ;  in  both  the  accuser  professed  to  have  been  present, 
and  thus  a  participant,  though  in  different  degrees,  in  the 
crime.  In  both  the  conversations  with  the  supposed  mur- 
derer are  minutely  detailed  ;  in  both  the  tale  is  solemnly  re- 
peated, consistently,  and  without  variation,  at  considerable  in- 
tervals of  time,  and  subject  to  the  test  of  judicial  examination. 

A  case  even  more  remarkable  occurred  shortly  before  the 
one  we  have  just  referred  to. 

A  gentleman  of  high  social  position  instituted  proceedings 
against  liis  wife  with  the  view  of  obtaining  a  divorce. 

The  innocence  of  the  lady  was  strongly  asserted  and  firmly 
believed.  Counter-charges  of  conspiracy  and  perjury  were 
brought  against  the  husband  and  his  witnesses.  The  lady 
herself  was  in  a  state  of  disordered  intellect,  produced,  as  was 
asserted,  by  the  conduct  of  the  husband,  which  precluded  her 
from  taking  any  part,  or  affording  any  assistance  towards  her 
own  defence,  which,  however,  was  vigorously  maintained  by 
friends  who  were  firmly  convinced  that  she  was  wholly  inno- 
cent. The  inquiry  lasted  for  nearly  four  years,  and  at  length 
reached  the  House  of  Lords,  where  the  case  on  behalf  of  the 
husband  had  just  terminated  when  Parliauient  rose  for  the 
Easter  recess. 

On  the  House  reassembling,  there  appeared  at  the  bar  an 
elderly  and  respectable-looking  clergyman — who,  to  the  sur- 
prise of  every  one,  deposed  upon  oath  that  six  or  seven  years 
before — namely,  in  the  month  of  IMay  or  Juno,  in  the  year 
1849  or  '50,  he  could  not  say  which — he  had  been  an  actual 
eyewitness  of  the  guilt  of  the  lady.  He  swore  that  he  had  never 
mentioned  the  circumstance  during  the  six  or  seven  years  that 
had  elapsed  but  to  one  person,  and  tluit  person  was  dead.  He 
had  permitted  his  daughters  and  liis  sister  to  continue  on 
terms  of  intimacy  with  the  lady  whom  he  accused.     He  was 


350  JUDICIAF.    PUZZLES. 

unable  to  fix  the  time  of  the  occurrence,  even  as  to  the  year 
ill  which  it  took  place,  or  to  state  who  was  the  partner  in  her 
guilt.  Every  avenue  for  contradiction  was  thus  cut  off,  and 
the  story  was  left  to  stand  or  fall,  according  as  the  respectable 
character  and  social  position  of  the  witness,  and  the  apparent 
conviction  with  which  he  told  his  story,  or  the  improbable 
nature  of  that  story  itself,  coupled  with  the  fact  that  during  a 
most  searching  investigation,  carried  on  by  adverse  parties 
with  the  utmost  eagerness  for  a  period  of  between  four  and 
five  years,  no  circumstance  which  in  the  slighest  degree  corro- 
borated that  story  had  ever  come  to  light,  might  be  considered 
to  be  entitled  to  the  greater  weight.  It  was  not  long,  how- 
ever, before  the  diiliculty  was  solved.  Within  a  few  months, 
the  witness  who  had  given  this  extraordinary  history  gave 
himself  up  to  justice,  declaring  with  every  expression  of  con- 
trition that  he  had  been  guilty  of  forging  certain  bills  of 
exchange,  that  they  had  nearly  reached  maturity,  that  he  had 
no  means  of  providing  for  them,  that  detection  was  inevitable, 
and  that  he  wished  to  anticipate  the  blow,  and  make  such 
reparation  as  was  in  his  power  by  a  full  acknowledgment  of 
his  guilt.  Upon  investigation,  it  turned  out  that  there  was 
not  the  slightest  foundation  for  this  story ;  no  forgery  had 
been  committed — no  such  bills  of  exchange  had  ever  been  in 
existence.  His  delusion  as  to  his  own  guilt  was  as  complete 
as  his  delusion  as  to  that  of  the  lady  against  whom  he  had 
given  evidence,  over  whose  strange  history  he  had  no  doubt 
brooded  for  years,  until  the  thick-coming  fancies  of  his  brain 
assumed  the  form  and  appearance  of  substantive  creations. 

Doctor  Southwood  Smith,  in  his  '  Lectures  on  Forensic  Medi- 
cine,' after  observing  how  common  false  self-inculpative  evi- 
dence is,  gives  some  remarkable  instances  in  which  it  has 
occurred.  Of  these  the  following  is  perhaps  the  most  strik- 
ing :  "  In  the  war  of  the  French  Pie  volution  the  Hermione 
frigate  was  commanded  by  Captain  Pigot,  a  harsh  man  and  a 
severe  commander.  His  crew  mutinied,  and  earned  the  ship 
into  an  enemy's  port,  having  murdered  the  captain  and  many 
of  the  officers  under  circumstances  of  extreme  barbarity.  One 
midshipman  escai)ed,  by  whom  many  of  the  criminals,  who 


THE    CAMPDEN   WONDER.  357 

were  afterwards  taken  and  delivered  over  to  justice  one  by 
one,  were  identified.  Mr  Finlaison,  the  Government  actuary, 
who  at  that  time  held  an  official  situation  at  the  Admiralty, 
states :  '  In  my  own  experience  I  have  known,  on  separate 
occasions,  more  than  six  sailors  who  voluntarily  confessed  to 
having  struck  the  first  blow  at  Captain  Pigot.  These  men 
detailed  all  the  horrid  circumstances  of  the  mutiny  w4tli  ex- 
treme minuteness  and  perfect  accuracy  ;  nevertheless,  not  one 
of  them  had  ever  been  in  the  ship,  nor  had  so  much  as  seen 
Captain  Pigot  in  their  lives.  They  had  obtained,  by  tradition, 
from  their  messmates,  the  particulars  of  the  story.  When  long 
on  a  foreign  station,  hungering  and  thirsting  for  home,  their 
minds  became  enfeebled ;  at  length  they  actually  believed 
themselves  guilty  of  the  crime  over  which  they  had  so  long 
brooded,  and  submitted  with  a  gloomy  pleasure  to  being  sent 
to  England  in  irons  for  judgment.  At  the  Admiralty  we  were 
always  able  to  detect  and  establish  their  innocence  in  defiance 
of  their  own  solemn  asseverations.' "  ^ 

We  are  exhausting  our  space,  though  not  the  number  of 
instances  of  a  similar  description  which  lie  before  us,  and 
must  content  ourselves  with  one  more. 

A  magistrate  of  one  of  the  northern  counties  of  England, 
well  known  for  his  active  benevolence,  during  the  discharge 
of  his  duty  as  one  of  the  visiting  justices  of  the  County 
Lunatic  Asylum,  entered  into  conversation  with  one  of  the 
patients,  and  was  much  struck  with  his  rational  demeanour 
and  sensible  remarks.  The  man  expressed  himself  grateful 
for  the  kindness  with  which  he  was  treated,  and  said  that  he 
was  well  aware  that  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  be  under 
restraint ;  that  although  he  was  perfectly  well  at  that  time,  he 
knew  that  he  was  at  any  moment  liable  to  a  return  of  the 
insanity,  during  an  attack  of  which  he  had  some  years  before 
murdered  his  wife ;  and  that  it  would  be  unsafe  to  permit  him 
to  go  at  large.  lie  then  expressed  the  deepest  contrition  for 
his  crime ;  and  after  some  further  conversation  the  magistrate 
left  him,  not  doubting  the  truth  uf  his  story.  Peicrring  to  the 
case  in  conversation  with  tlie  master  of  the  asylum,  he  ex- 

*  London  Medical  Gazette,  Jan.  1838. 


358  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

pressed  much  interest,  and  referred  to  the  patient  as  "  that 
iinliappy  criminal  lunatic  who  had  murdered  his  wife  ; "  when, 
to  his  astoiiisliment,  ho  was  informed  that  the  wife  was  alive 
and  well,  and  had  been  to  visit  her  hushand  only  the  day 
before ! 

AVe  cannot  conclude  our  observations  on  this  interesting:,' 
subject  better  than  in  the  words  of  the  old  jurist  Heinec- 
cius :  ^  "  Confession  is  sometimes  the  voice  of  conscience. 
Experience,  however,  teaches  us  that  it  is  frequently  far  other- 
wise. There  sometimes  lurks,  under  the  shadow  of  an  ap- 
parent tranquillity,  an  insanity  which  impels  men  readily  to 
accuse  themselves  of  all  kinds  of  iniquity.  Some,  deluded  by 
their  imaginations,  suspect  themselves  of  crimes  which  they 
have  never  committed.  A  melancholy  temperament,  the 
tcedium  vitce,  and  an  unaccountable  propensity  to  their  own 
destruction,  urges  some  to  the  most  false  confessions ;  whilst 
they  were  extracted  from  others  by  the  dread  of  torture,  or  the 
tedious  misery  of  the  dungeon.  So  far  is  it  from  being  the 
fact  that  all  confessions  are  to  be  attributed  to  the  stings  of 
conscience,  that  it  has  been  well  said  by  Calphurnius  Flac- 
cus,  'Even  a  voluntary  confession  is  to  be  regarded  with 
suspicion;'  and  by  Quintilian,  'a  suspicion  of  insanity  is 
inherent  in  the  nature  of  all  confessions.' " 

1  E.vei-.  18,  §  6. 


359 


III. 

THE    ANNESLEY    CASE.^ 

When  the  Captain  of  the  Great  Britain  ran  that  unfortunate 
vessel  on  to  the  sands  of  Dundrum  Bay,  it  was  urged  in  his 
excuse,  that  so  many  marvellous  tales  are  told  about  Ireland, 
that  he  was  justified  in  concluding  that  no  obstacle  lay  in  his 
road  from  the  Isle  of  Man  to  New  York ;  that  Dublin  was  as 
fabulous  as  Blefuscu ;  and  that  the  INIourne  mountains  had  no 
more  real  existence  than  the  loadstone  hill  which  proved  latal 
to  the  ship  of  Sindbad.  The  story  we  are  about  to  tell  might 
almost  justify  such  incredulity ;  yet  it  is  only  one  of  many 
equally  strange  and  equally  well  authenticated. 

In  the  year  1706,  Arthur  Lord  Altham,  a  needy  and  disso- 
lute Irish  peer,  married  IMary  Sheffield,  an  illegitimate  daugh- 
ter of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham.  They  lived  together  for  three 
years;  but  in  1709  Lord  Altham  went  to  Ireland,  leaving  his 
wife  in  England,  where  she  remained  until  1713,  when  she 
joined  her  husband  in  Dublin.  From  that  time  until  1716, 
they  resided  together,  principally  at  Dunmaine,  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Ross,  in  the  county  of  Wexford.  In  1716  they 
separated,  under  circumstances  which  we  shall  presently  have 
occasion  to  notice  more  minutely,  and  never  met  again.  In 
1727  Lord  Altham  died,  and  was  succeeded  in  liis  title  and 
estates  by  his  brother  Kichard  Annesley,  who  remained  in  un- 
disturbed possession  of  both  for  a  period  of  thirteen  years. 
Lady  Altham  survived  her  husband  for  about  two  years,  which 
were  passed  in  sickness  and  poverty,  but  does  not  appear  ever 
to  have  taken  any  step  to  prevent  IJichard  Anncsloy's  assump- 
tion of  the  character  of  heir  to  hcv  husband,  to  which,  of 
'  I'l;ickwood's  Magazine,  November  1S60. 


300  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

course,  ho  would  liavu  had  iin  title  if  she  had  a  son  living  at 
the  time  of  Lord  Althani's  death.  In  the  year  1739,  however, 
a  young  man  of  about  four-and-twcnty  years  of  age  made  his 
appearance  in  the  fleet  which,  under  the  command  of  Admiial 
Vernon,  was  lying  off  Porto-liello.  lie  called  himself  James 
Annesley,  stated  that  he  was  the  son  of  Lord  Altham,  that  he 
had  been  educated  and  acknowledged  as  such  son  until  he  was 
nine  or  ten  years  of  age ;  that  upon  the  death  of  his  father  he 
had  been  kidnapped  and  sold  for  a  slave  in  America ;  that  he 
had  passed  tlurteen  years  in  servitude,  and  at  last  (after  a 
series  of  romantic  and  not  very  credible  adventures,  which 
have  notliing  to  do  with  our  present  subject)  had  effected  liis 
escape.  Admiral  Vernon  furnished  liim  with  the  means  of 
proceeding  to  England,  where  he  arrived  shortly  afterwards. 

On  his  arrival  in  England  he  went  to  lodge  at  Staines,  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Windsor,  and  here  a  circumstance 
occurred  which  had  no  doubt  a  considerable  effect  on  the  sub- 
sequent proceedings.  One  of  his  associates,  a  man  of  the  name 
of  Redding,  was  gamekeeper  to  Sir  John  Dolbin,  the  lord  of 
the  manor.  One  morning  James  Annesley  was  out  with  a  gun 
shootiiig  small  birds,  when  Eedding  called  him  to  assist  in 
capturing  a  net  with  which  a  man  of  the  name  of  Egglestone 
was  fishing  in  the  river ;  Annesley's  gun  unfortunately  went 
off  in  the  scuffle,  and  mortally  wounded  Egglestone.  There 
could  be  little  doubt  that  the  discharge  of  the  gun  was  purely 
accidental ;  but  Lord  Anglesea  (for  Eichard,  Lord  Altham,  had 
in  the  mean  time  succeeded  to  that  title  also)  seized  the  oppor- 
tunity to  destroy,  as  he  tliought,  the  claimant  of  his  title  and 
estates.  He  instituted  a  prosecution  against  James  Annesley 
for  murder  ;  he  was  prodigal  of  money  and  promises  amongst 
the  witnesses ;  and  he  declared  that  he  would  willingly  give 
ten  thousand  pounds  to  get  him  hanged.  The  jury  at  the  Old 
Bailey  acquitted  Annesley,  and  Lord  Anglesea's  machinations 
recoiled  upon  himself;  for  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  they 
greatly  influenced  both  the  court  and  jury  against  him  on  the 
subsequent  trial. 

On  the  nth  of  November  1743,  the  trial  for  the  recovery  of 
the  estates  came  on  in  the  Court  of  Exchequer  in  Dublin.     It 


THE    ANNESLEY   CASE.  3C1 

lasted  fifteen  days,  and  above  ninety  witnesses  were  examined. 
The  issue  between  the  parties  was  of  the  simplest  and  boldest 
character.  On  the  one  hand,  it  was  asserted  that,  in  the 
spring  of  the  year  1715,  Lady  Altham  had  been  delivered  at 
Duumaine  of  a  son  and  heir ;  that  all  the  customary  solem- 
nities and  rejoicings  had  taken  place  ;  that  the  child  was  uni- 
formly acknowledged  and  treated  both  by  Lord  and  Lady 
Altham  as  their  son  ;  that  he  was  shown  and  spoken  of  as 
such  to  visitors  and  friends  ;  that  when  the  separation  between 
his  parents  took  place,  the  mother  passionately  entreated  that 
she  might  be  permitted  to  take  the  child  with  her,  which  tlie 
father  refused,  keeping  the  boy  and  educating  him  as  the  heir 
to  his  title  and  estates.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  denied  that 
Lady  Altham  ever  had  a  child  at  all.  It  was  asserted  that 
the  very  ground  of  the  separation  between  herself  and  her 
husband  was  the  discomfort  and  disappointment  occasioned  by 
her  bearing  no  heir ;  that  it  was  known  to  every  relation  and 
visitor,  to  every  servant  in  the  house,  that  Lady  Altham  never 
had  a  child  ;  that  the  servant  who  had  attended  her  from  her 
arrival  in  Dublin  to  the  hour  of  her  death,  who  had  dressed 
and  undressed  her  every  morning  and  evening,  and  had  never 
been  absent  for  more  than  one  single  week  during  the  whole  of 
that  period,  was  living,  and  would  prove,  not  only  that  no 
child  ever  was  born,  but  that  there  never  was  the  slightest 
chance  or  probability  that  Lady  Altham  w^ould  have  a  child. 
It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  simpler  issue,  or  one  which 
might  be  supposed  to  be  easier  for  conclusive  proof  one  way 
or  the  other;  yet  two  juries  came  to  diametrically  opposite 
conclusions,  and  so  positive  is  the  testimony  on  each  side,  tliat 
it  seems  even  now,  after  carefully  reading  the  contradictory 
evidence  which  is  preserved  in  upwards  of  five  hundred 
columns  of  the  State  Trials,  to  be  imj^ssible  to  arrive  at  any 
satisfactory  result. 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  the  question  raised  by  this  issue  was 
not  one  of  personation  or  disputed  identity.  If  Lady  Altliam 
ever  had  a  son,  it  was  virtually  admitted  that  James  Annesley 
was  that  son.  Nor  was  the  case  one  of  concealed  or  doubtful 
marriage,  or  obscure  birth,  such  as  luivo  frequently  occupied  the 


3G2  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

courts.     From  the  arrival  of  Lady  Altliam  in  Ireland  until  her 

.sei)aratiou  from  lier  liusband,  a  period  of  about  tlirce  years, 
they  resided  publicly  together,  kept  a  large  establishment  of 
servants,  and  visited  and  associated  with  persons  of  the  most 
various  rank  and  position  in  the  neighbourhood.  It  seems  in- 
credible that  any  dispute  sliould  ever  have  arisen  upon  a  point 
so  easy  of  proof  as  whether  persons  of  their  rank,  and  so  circum- 
stanced, had  or  had  not  a  cliild  ;  and  as  we  read  the  evidence 
adduced,  the  testimony  on  the  one  side  seems  absolutely  con- 
clusive, until  it  is  met  by  contradictory  evidence,  to  all  ap- 
pearance equally  conclusive,  on  the  other. 

The  household  at  Dunmaine  was  large  and  disorderly,  con- 
sisting of  sixteen  or  seventeen  sen^ants,  from  the  English 
housekeeper,  who  was  "  sent  over  by  my  lady,"  and  who  re- 
joiced in  the  appropriate  name  of  "  Mrs  Settright,"  down  to 
"  Smutty  the  dog-boy,  who  was  very  ugly."  Poor  Smutty ! 
immortalised  by  his  ugliness.  He  shows  his  ill-favoured 
countenance  for  a  moment,  and  disappears  into  utter  obscurity. 
Lord  Altham  had  about  him,  also,  a  number  of  hangers-on 
and  humble  companions;  but,  besides  these,  he  associated 
with  gentlemen  of  his  own  rank  and  position ;  and  one  of  the 
first  witnesses  called  on  behalf  of  the  claimant  was  a  IMajor 
Eichard  Fitzgerald. 

Tlie  Major  deposed  that  in  the  3'^ear  1715  he  was  in  the  town 
of  Ptoss,  having  had  occasion  to  go  there  on  account  of  some 
business  arising  from  the  deatli  of  his  uncle,  a  ^Mr  Pigott,  who 
lived  in  the  county  of  Wexford.  In  Boss  he  met  Lord  Altham, 
who  invited  him  to  dinner.  The  j\Iajor  excused  himself,  as  he 
was  engaged  to  dine  with  some  brother  officers;  "but  Lord 
Altham  said  deponent  must  dine  with  him,  and  come  to 
drink  some  groaning  drink,  for  that  his  wife  was  in  labour. 
Deponent  told  him  that  was  a  reason  he  ought  not  to  go ;  but 
Lord  Altham  would  not  take  an  excuse,  and  sent  the  deponent 
word  the  next  day  to  Poss,  that  his  tuifc  was  hronght  to  bed  of 
a  son  ;  and  the  deponent  went  to  Dunmaine  and  dined  there, 
and  had  some  discourse  about  the  cliild,  and  Lord  Altham 
swore  that  the  deponent  should  see  his  son,  and  accordingly 
the  nurse  brought  the  child  to  deponent,  and  deponent  kissed 


THE   ANNESLEY   CASE.  3G3 

the  child,  aud  gave  half-a-guinea  to  the  nurse  ;  and  some  of 
the  company  toasted  the  heir-apparent  to  Lord  Anglesea  at 
dinner.  That  this  was  the  day  after  the  child  was  born :  and 
deponent  says  that  he  left  the  country  the  next  day,  and  went 
to  the  county  of  Waterford,  to  his  own  house  at  Prospect  Hall. 
Says  deponent  saw  the  Avonian  to  whom  he  gave  tlie  half- 
guinea,  tliis  day  of  his  examination ;  that  he  remembers  her 
well,  because  he  took  notice  of  her  when  he  gave  her  the  half- 
guinea,  that  she  was  very  handsome ;  that  he  did  not  stay  at 
Dunmaine  that  night,  but  came  to  Ross  at  nightfall,  and  was 
attacked  in  the  road  by  robbers ;  that  he  crossed  the  ferry  on 
his  return  home ;  remembers  that  Lord  Altham  was  in  high 
spirits  with  the  thoughts  of  having  a  son  and  heir."  ^ 

It  seems  impossible  to  add  to  the  force  of  this  testimony. 
No  attempt  was  made  to  impeach  the  character  or  credibility 
of  the  witness.  Everything  concurred  to  fix  the  time  and  cir- 
cumstances in  his  mind  ;  mistake  appears  impossible  ;  and  no 
motive  is  assignable  for  wilful  falsehood.  Nor  is  the  evidence 
given  by  the  next  witness  less  conclusive.  John  Turner  was 
seneschal  to  Lord  Anglesea.  He  had  lived  at  Dunmaine  for 
ten  years ;  he  had  visited  Lord  Altham  ;  and  soon  after  his 
own  marriage,  which  took  place  in  December  1714,  he  observed 
appearance  of  pregnancy  in  Lady  Altham.  He  says  that  the 
next  time  he  saw  Lady  Altham  she  told  him  she  had  a  son  ; 
that  he  afterwards  saw  the  boy,  and  had  him  in  his  arms  at 
Dunmaine  when  he  was  about  a  year  and  half  old  ;  that  Lady 
Altham  led  the  child  across  the  parlour,  and  Lord  Altham 
kissed  him  and  called  him  "  Jemmy ; "  that  he  saw  the  chihl 
subsequently  at  Eoss,  and  afterwards  at  Kinnay  and  Carriclc- 
duflF,  after  the  separation  between  Lord  and  Lady  Altham,  when 
he  was  treated  by  his  father  in  all  respects  as  his  legitimate 
son  ;  that  in  the  year  1722,  meeting  Lord  Altham  at  a  tavern 
in  Dublin,  the  boy  was  sent  for,  and  Lord  Altham  said  to  de- 
ponent, "You  were  seneschal  to  Earl  Arthur  and  Earl  Jolin, 
and  you  may  be  seneschal  to  the  child."  - 

During  the  eight-and-twenty  years  that  had  elapsed  between 
the  birth  of  the  child  in  1715  and  the  trial  in  1743,  it  was  to 

>  state  Trials,  xvii.  11.'53.  =  Ibid.,  xvii.  ll.'vt. 


3G4  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

bo  expected  that  many  of  tliosc  whose  evidence  would  have 
Ix'cu  most  valuable  sliould  have  died  ;  amongst  them  were 
those  who  stood  sponsors  for  the  child  at  its  baptism ;  Mr 
Colcloiigh,  Mr  Cliff,  and  Mrs  Pigott,  members  of  families  still 
holding  higli  positions  in  tlie  county  of  Wexford  ;  ])ut  the  fact 
of  the  christening,  the  rejoicings  that  took  place,  the  bonfires 
and  festivities,  were  proved  by  servants  who  lived  in  the  house 
at  the  time,  and  proved  repeatedly  and  consistently. 

It  is  impossible  within  the  narrow  limits  of  an  article  to  give 
even  an  outline  of  the  evidence  of  the  fifty  witnesses  who  were 
called  to  substantiate  the  claimant's  case.  It  would  seem 
almost  needless  to  strengthen  the  evidence  of  Major  Fitzgerald 
and  John  Turner.  Every  conceivable  confirmation,  however, 
was  given.  Friends  of  Lord  Altham  swore  to  conversations 
with  him,  in  which  he  had  spoken  in  the  most  open  manner  of 
his  son,  and  of  the  disappointment  of  his  brother's  expecta- 
tions of  being  his  heir.  "Witnesses  were  produced  who  had 
lieen  present  and  assisting  at  the  birth  of  the  child  ;  and  it 
is  very  remarkable  tliat,  although  these  witnesses  were  drawn 
from  every  rank  of  life,  no  successful  attempt  was  made  to  im- 
peach the  credibility  of  any  of  them,  nor  was  any  inconsistency 
to  be  discovered  in  their  testimony  further  than  might  be  satis- 
factorily accounted  for  by  the  long  period  that  had  elapsed 
between  the  events  to  which  they  spoke  and  the  time  w^hen 
they  gave  their  evidence.  We  now  come,  however,  to  the  most 
remarkable  conflict  of  testimony  which  occurs  in  the  whole 
case.  A  w^oman  of  the  name  of  Joan  Lafian  was  called.  She 
deposed  that  she  entered  Lord  ^Vltham's  service  in  1715  ;  that 
she  was  employed  as  nursemaid  to  attend  on  the  child  as  soon 
as  he  came  from  the  wet-nurse ;  that  he  was  at  that  time  three 
or  four  months  old,  and  was  in  her  charge  for  about  a  year  and 
a  half;  that  he  was  treated  in  all  respects  as  their  child  by 
both  Lord  and  Lady  Altham,  who  showed  great  fondness  for 
him,  and  into  whose  bedroom  she  was  in  the  habit  of  bringing 
the  child  in  the  morning. 

She  then  gave  an  account  of  the  separation  between  Lord 
and  Lady  Altham.  "  It  was,"  she  said,  "  on  account  of  Tom 
Palliser."     "  My  lord  had  laid  a  plot  against  him,  and  on  one 


THE   ANNESLEY   CASE.  365 

Sunday  morning  pretended  to  my  lady  that  he  was  obliged  to 
go  out  to  dinner.  That  ]\Ir  Palliser  breakfasted  with  my  lord, 
and  they  had  a  bottle  of  mulled  wine  for  breakfast.  As  soon 
as  my  lord  was  gone  out,  Mr  Palliser  went  into  my  lady's 
room,  and,  the  plot  having  been  laid  before,  a  signal  was  made 
that  brought  my  lord  back ;  that  my  lord  ran  up  with  his 
sword,  and  had  him  brought  out  of  the  room,  and  the  groom 
came  to  Palliser  and  said  to  him,  *  Is  this  the  way  you  keep 
my  lady  company  ? '  and  took  out  a  case-knife  in  order  to  cut 
liis  nose,  but  he  was  ordered  only  to  cut  his  ear.  That  depo- 
nent ivas  standing  hy  in  the  room,  and  she  had  the  child  in  her 
hand,  and  he  showed  her  the  blood  out  of  Palliser' s  car ;  it  was 
the  soft  imrt  of  the  car  that  was  cut,  and  the  child  pointed  at  the 
blood  that  came  out  of  the  ear."  ^  The  same  witness  deposed  that 
"  she  was  present  when  my  lord  and  lady  parted  ;  that  she  saw 
my  lady  at  the  door  ivith  the  child  in  her  arms;  that  my  lord 
came  out  of  the  house  in  a  great  rage,  and  asked  where  his 
child  was,  and  upon  being  told  that  he  was  with  his  mother, 
he  ran  up  to  her  and  snatched  the  child  out  of  her  arms ;  that 
my  lady  begged  very  hard  she  might  take  the  child  along  with 
her,  but  my  lord  sioore  he  would  not  part  with  the  child  upon 
any  consideration ;  that  my  lady,  finding  she  could  not  prevail, 
burst  out  a-crying,  and  begged  she  might  at  least  give  the  child 
one  parting  kiss  ;  that  my  lord,  with  some  difficulty,  consented, 
and  then  my  lady  drove  away  to  Iloss."  ^ 

Such  is  Joan  Laffan's  story,  and  we  must  keep  in  mind  tliat 
at  a  subsequent  period  it  was  confirmed  by  another  witness ;  ^ 
but  in  the  mean  time,  let  us  turn  to  Palliser's  account  of  the 
same  transaction. 

He  stated  that  when  he  was  very  young  he  spent  nnich  of 
his  time  at  Dunmaine,  which  was  within  about  three  miles  of 
his  father's  residence,  and  used  to  ride  Lord  Altham's  horses 
hunting.  That  one  day  as  they  were  returning  home.  Lord 
Altham  told  liim  that  he  was  determined  to  part  with  his  lady; 
and  upon  deponent's  asking  liini  his  reasons,  my  lonl  replied, 
"  I  find  Lord  Anglesea  will  not  be  in  friendship  with  me  while 
I  live  with  this  woman,  and  since  I  have  no  child  by  her  I  will 
1  State  Trials,  xvii.  1280.  Mbid.,  xvii.  11G8,  1170.  3  n^ij^  g^ 


3CG  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

yart  vH/h  her."  I'alliscr  then  gives  an  account,  in  all  material 
cirnunistanccs  tlic  same  as  Joan  Laffan's,  of  his  being  entra]»])ed 
by  Lord  Altham  into  his  wife's  room,  and  falsely  accused  oi 
being  there  for  an  improper  purpose  ;  he  takes  off  his  wig  and 
shows  the  jury  where  his  ear  was  cut,  solemnly  asseverates  the 
innocence  of  Lady  Altham,  and  declares  not  only  that  no  child 
was  present  upon  that  occasion,  but  that  he  "  never  saw  a  child 
in  the  house."  Upon  this  the  Court,  "  apprehending  that  there 
was  some  contradiction  between  the  evidence  of  Palliser  and 
that  of  Joan  Laffan,"  as  indeed  they  well  might,  ordered  Laf- 
fan  to  be  recalled,  and  tlie  two  witnesses  to  be  confronted. 
Each  repeated  the  story,  eacli  was  equally  clear,  distinct,  and 
positive.  We  have  said  that  Joan  Laffan's  evidence  was  sub- 
sequently confirmed  by  another  witness,  who  deponed  to  hav- 
ing been  present  at  the  parting  of  Lady  Altham  and  her  child. 
The  same  is,  however,  the  case  with  the  testimony  of  Palliser, 
which  was  confirmed  by  Mary  Heath,  Lady  Altham's  woman, 
who  went  with  her  in  the  carriage  to  Koss,  and  who  swore, 
most  positively,  that  no  such  child  ever  was  in  existence.  It 
is  to  be  observed  that  Palliser  and  Laffan  agree  that  the  charge 
against  Lady  Altham  w^as  false  ;  that  Laffan  attributes  the  plot 
to  the  revenge  of  the  servants,  on  account  of  some  mischievous 
boyish  tricks  which  had  been  played  upon  them  by  Palliser ; 
whilst  Palliser  himself  attributes  it  to  the  deeper  and  more 
probable  motive  of  a  determination  on  the  part  of  Lord  Al- 
tham to  get  rid  of  a  wife  from  whom  he  hoped  for  no  heir — a 
motive  which  we  have  seen  give  rise  to  some  of  the  darkest 
domestic  tragedies  that  have  disgraced  humanity.  The  case, 
however,  is  beset  with  difficulties  on  all  sides  ;  for  if  we  are  to 
accept  the  evidence  of  Palliser  as  true,  the  inevitable  conse- 
quence follows,  that  we  must  hold,  not  only  Joan  Laffan,  but 
Major  Fitzgerald,  Turner,  and  many,  indeed  most,  of  the  fifty 
witnesses  called  on  behalf  of  the  claimant,  and  who  swore  pos- 
itively to  the  existence  of  the  child,  to  have  been  deliberately 
perjured. 

After  the  separation  Lady  Altham  went  to  reside  at  Eoss, 
and  subsequently  removed  to  Dublin.  Her  circumstances 
were  extremely  narrow,  and  her  health  bad,  but  she  was  faith- 


THE   ANNESLEY   CASE.  3G7 

fully  attended  until  her  death,  which  took  place  in  October 
1729,  by  Mary  Heath.  From  her  first  arrival  in  Ireland,  in 
1713,  a  period  of  sixteen  years,  with  the  exception  of  a  single 
week  this  woman  was  never  absent  from  her.  "Whilst  she 
resided  at  Dunmaine,  Heath  dressed  her  every  morning,  and 
undressed  her  every  night ;  and  this  witness  swore  in  the 
most  distinct  and  positive  manner  that  she  never  had  a  child. 
It  seems  to  be  enough  to  shake  one's  confidence  in  all  human 
testimony  to  find  evidence  so  clear,  distinct,  and  unimpeach- 
able, on  each  side ;  to  be  compelled  to  admit  that  on  one  side  or 
the  other  there  must  be  the  most  wilful  and  deliberate  perjury, 
and  yet  to  feel  it  impossible  to  say  on  which  side  perjury  exists. 

Lord  Altham  removed,  shortly  after  his  separation  from  his 
wife,  to  a  place  called  Kinnay,  in  the  county  of  Kildare,  and 
the  issue  now  assumes  a  different  aspect.  It  is  admitted  that 
there  was  a  child  at  Kinnay,  that  he  was  put  to  school  by 
Lord  Altham  and  treated  as  part  of  his  family  ;  but  it  is  con- 
tended that  he  was  the  illegitimate  child  of  Lord  Altham,  by 
a  woman  of  the  name  of  Joan  Landy,  who  had  been  a  servant 
in  the  house  at  Dunmaine,  and  that  he  had  been  brought  to 
the  house  subsequently  to  Lady  Altham's  daparture. 

In  the  earlier  part  of  the  case  the  claimant  is  met  with  the 
general  denial — Lady  Altham  never  had  a  son.  Prove  that 
she  had,  and  we  will  admit  you  to  be  that  son.  In  the  latter 
part,  the  defendant  says  in  substance,  I  admit  that,  during 
Lord  Altham's  residence  at  Kiumay,  there  was  a  boy  who 
passed  as  his  son.  I  admit  that  you  are  that  boy ;  but  you 
are  not  the  heir  of  Lord  Altham,  but  his  illegitimate  son  by 
Joan  Landy. 

The  whole  of  the  evidence,  therefore,  changes  its  character  : 
when  Mary  Heath  swears  that  her  mistress  never  had  a  child, 
whilst  Eleanor  Murphy  swears  that  both  she  and  Heath  were 
present  at  the  birth,  one  or  the  other  must  be  perjured.  Lut 
Lord  Altham  might  use  expressions  as  to  "little  Jemmy" 
which  one  witness  miglit  understand  as  being  a  distinct 
declaration  of  liis  legitimacy,  and  anotlier  might  think  only 
conveyed  the  expression  of  liis  alfcction  for  his  natural  cliikl. 

During  the  first  period  the  existence  of  the  child  is  denied  ; 


368  J  I- DILI  A  L    IM  ZZIJOS. 

(lurinj^  tlio  second  it  is  admitted  ;  and  we  shall  now  jtroce(,'d 
to  follow  the  fortunes  of  tlie  boy,  waiving  for  the  present  the 
question  of  who  was  his  mother. 

Lord  Altham,  after  his  separation  iVom  his  wife,  formed  a 
connection  with  one  Miss  Gregory,  who  seems  to  have  exer- 
cised an  unbounded  influence  over  him.  After  a  short  time 
poor  "  Jemmy  "  was  turned  out  to  wander  in  rags  aljout  the 
streets  of  Dublin.  Here,  however,  he  met  with  friends  :  a 
good-natured  student  in  Trinity  College,  of  the  name  of  Bush, 
clothed  and  fed  him,  and  employed  him  to  run  of  errands, 
till  his  grandfather  told  him  it  was  not  fit  he  should  have 
a  lord  for  his  servant,  when  he  was  turned  out  upon  the 
world  again.  He  was  next  taken  charge  of  by  an  honest 
butcher  named  Purcell,  who  took  him  home  and  brought 
liim  up  with  his  own  son.  Purcell  tells  the  Court  that  whilst 
"  the  boy  was  in  his  house,  a  gentleman  (who  was  then  called 
Eichard  Annesley,  and  is  the  now  defendant,  the  Earl  of 
Anglesea)  came  to  deponent's  house  and  asked  if  one  Purcell 
did  not  live  there,  and  said  he  supposed  they  sold  liquors ; 
that  the  gentleman  had  a  gun  in  his  hand,  and  sat  down,  and 
having  called  for  a  pot  of  beer,  asked  deponent  if  he  had  a  boy 
in  his  house  called  James  Annesley  ?  To  which  deponent 
answered  that  there  was  such  a  boy  in  the  house,  and  called 
his  wife  and  told  her  that  a  gentleman  wanted  to  see  the  boy  ; 
says  that  the  child  was  sitting  by  the  fireside,  and  immediately 
saw  Mv  Pdchard  Annesley,  though  he  could  not  see  the  child 
by  reason  of  the  situation  where  he  sat ;  says  the  child  trem- 
bled and  cried,  and  was  greatly  affrighted,  saying,  '  That  is  my 
uncle  Dick ; '  says  that  when  the  child  was  shown  to  the 
defendant,  he  said  to  Jemmy,  '  How  do  you  do  ? '  That  the 
child  made  his  bow,  and  replied,  'Thank  God,  very  well,' 
That  the  defendant  then  said,  'Don't  you  know  me?'  'Yes,' 
said  the  child,  '  you  are  my  uncle  Annesley.'  That  thereupon 
the  defendant  told  the  deponent  that  the  child  was  the  sou  of 
Lord  Altham,  who  lived  at  Inchcore  ;  to  which  deponent  re- 
plied, '  I  wish,  sir,  you  would  speak  to  his  father  to  do  some- 
thing for  him.' "  ^ 

^  statu  Trials,  xvii,  1'201. 


THE   ANNESLEY   CASE.  3G9 

The  child's  fear  of  liis  uncle  was  not  without  good  cause. 
About  three  weeks  after  Lord  Altham's  death,  Richard  Annes- 
ley  came  a  second  time  to  seek  for  the  child,  and  desired  it 
should  be  sent  to  one  Jones's  in  the  market.  Purcell  suspected 
mischief.  The  honest  butcher  shall  tell  his  story  in  his  own 
words :  "  Then  deponent  took  a  cudgel  in  one  hand,  and  the 
child  in  the  other,  and  went  to  the  said  Jones's  house,  when 
he  saw  the  present  Earl  of  Anglesea  (who  was  then  in  mourn- 
ing), with  a  constable  and  two  or  three  other  odd-looking  fel- 
lows attending  about  the  door;  that  deponent  took  off  his 
hat,  and  saluted  my  lord,  which  he  did  not  think  proper  to 
return ;  but  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  child  in  the  deponent's 
hands,  he  called  to  a  fellow  that  stood  behind  deponent's  back, 
and  said  to  him,  '  Take  up  that  thieving  son  of  a (mean- 
ing the  child),  and  carry  him  to  the  place  I  bid  you,'  After 
some  more  language  of  the  same  kind  from  his  lordship,  the 
deponent  said,  '  My  lord,  he  is  no  thief ;  you  shall  not  take 
him  from  me ;  whoever  ofiFers  to  take  him  from  me  I'll  knock 
his  brains  out ; '  then  deponent  took  the  child  (who  was  trem- 
bling with  fear)  and  put  him  between  his  legs."  ^ 

Some  high  words  passed,  but  the  butcher  was  true  to  his 
trust ;  the  lord  and  the  constable  sneaked  off,  and  the  child 
was  carried  back  in  safety.  He  was  not  long  so  fortunate. 
Tear  of  a  repetition  of  the  attempt  to  capture  him  induced 
him,  very  foolishly,  to  leave  his  friend  the  butcher.  He  then 
took  refuge  in  the  house  of  a  Mr  Tigh  ;  but  it  was  not  long 
before  the  emissaries  of  his  uncle  discovered  his  retreat,  forced 
him  into  a  boat,  and  on  board  a  ship  bound  for  Philadelphia, 
which  sailed  on  April  1728.  His  uncle  himself  placed  him  in 
the  ship,  and  returned  to  Dublin,  thinking,  no  doubt,  that  he 
had  heard  the  last  of  him.  All  the  details  of  this  nefarious 
transaction  are  given  with  the  utmost  minuteness,  and  with- 
out shame  or  hesitation,  by  the  very  agents  who  were  em- 
ployed in  it.  The  share  which  Lord  Anglesea  took  in  the 
abduction  of  his  brother's  child  is  hardly  disputed.  The  con- 
tention is  confined  to  the  point  that  tlie  child  was  illegitimate. 
The  villany  of  the  act  seems  never  to  have  struck  any  of  the 

'  state  Trials,  xvii.  1202. 
2  A 


370  JUDICIAL    VVZ7A.EH. 

parties  concerned.  J5iit  this  act  ai)pcars  to  us  to  turn  tlie 
wavering  balance  of  evidence  against  Lord  Anglesea.  If  tlii.s 
boy  were  really  the  son  of  Joan  Landy,  it  could  not  be  dillicult 
for  Lord  Anglesea  to  procure  proof  of  that  fact  whilst  tlie 
events  were  so  recent,  whilst  Lady  Altham  was  still  living, 
and  when  he  had  himself,  by  common  consent,  been  admitted 
to  the  title  and  estates  of  his  l)rother.  If,  on  the  other  liand, 
he  knew  that  the  boy  was  his  brother's  legitimat(i  son,  he 
had  the  strongest  interest  to  remove  liim  out  of  the  way  before 
any  inquiries  could  be  made,  and  whilst  he  was  in  the  ob- 
scurity into  which  his  father  had  permitted  him  to  fall. 

Yet  a  suspicion,  almost  equally  strong,  against  the  truth  of 
the  claimant's  case  would  seem  to  arise  from  the  I'act,  that 
Joan  Landy  was  living,  and  yet  was  never  called. 

The  claimant's  story  was,  that  this  woman  was  his  nurse  ; 
that  her  own  child,  which  was  a  few  months  older  than  him- 
self, had  died,  when  he  was  four  or  five  years  old,  of  small- 
pox. Who  could  be  so  valuable  a  witness  for  the  claimant 
as  this  woman  ?  Yet  she  was  never  examined,  nor  ^vas  her 
absence  ever  satisfactorily  accoimted  for.  If  it  is  argued  that 
she  might  have  been  called  by  either  side — that  it  was  equally 
open  to  the  defendant  to  produce  her  to  negative,  as  to  the 
claimant  to  produce  her  to  support  the  story  —  it  may  be 
answered,  that  she  could  hardly  be  expected  to  come  forward 
to  denounce  her  own  son  as  an  impostor.  The  non-production 
of  a  witness,  who  must  have  important  evidence  in  her  power, 
who  was  naturally  the  witness  of  the  claimant,  and  whose 
absence  is  not  satisfactorily  accounted  for,  throws  the  gravest 
suspicion  upon  his  whole  case.  To  what  conclusion,  then,  can 
we  come?  The  jury,  after  a  consultation  of  about  two  hours, 
found  for  the  claimant.  They  must  therefore  have  considered 
Heath,  Palliser,  Rolph,  and  the  other  witnesses  who  swore  to 
the  non-existence  of  the  child,  to  have  perjured  themselves. 
The  plaintiff  appears  to  have  been  disposed  to  follow  up  his 
victory,  for  an  indictment  for  perjury  was  at  once  preferred 
against  Mary  Heath.  The  same  evidence  was  repeated  ;  Joan 
Lafian  was  again  examined.  But  the  jury  found  her  "  Not 
guilty."      They  must  therefore  have  considered  that  Laffan, 


THE    ANNESLEY    CASE.  37l 

and  all  those  who  swore  to  Lady  Altliam  having  had  a  child, 
had  been  guilty  of  the  crime  of  which  they  acquitted  Heath, 
James  Annesley  does  not  appear  to  have  taken  any  further 
steps  to  obtain  possession  of  the  estates  and  honours  to  which 
the  decision  of  the  jury  had  established  his  title.  He  died  at 
Blackheath  on  the  2d  of  January  17G0.  His  uncle  Eicliard 
Annesley,  Lord  Anglesea,  closed  liis  career  of  profligacy  and 
cruelty  twelve  short  months  afterwards.  James  Annesley  left 
a  son,  who  died  an  infant,  and  a  daughter,  who  married,  and 
whose  cliildren  died  young.  Thus  his  line  became  extinct, 
and  his  rights,  whatever  they  were,  reverted  to  his  uncle. 
Such  was  the  termination  of  the  "  Annesley  Case,"  memor- 
able for  the  dark  mystery  in  which  it  must  for  ever  remain 
shrouded,  and  for  the  curious  picture  which  it  affords  of  the 
manners  and  habits  of  life  that  prevailed  little  more  than  a 
hundred  years  before  our  own  day. 


372 


IV. 

ELIZA    FEXNINO.^ 

Immediately  adjoining  to  High  Ilolborn,  and  parallel  willi 
the  southern  side  of  Red  Lion  Square,  runs  a  long,  narrow, 
gloomy  lane,  called  Eagle  Street.  Sickly  children  dabble  in 
the  gutters,  and  gaze  wistfully  at  the  sugar-plums  and  hard- 
bake, painfully  suggestive  of  plaster-of- Paris  and  cobbler's 
wax,  wliich  are  displayed  in  the  windows  of  the  better  class 
of  shops,  in  company  with  farthing  prints  of  theatrical  char- 
acters, pegtops,  battledores,  and  other  objects  of  attraction  to 
the  youth  of  London.  Vendors  of  tripe  and  cats'-meat,  rag  and 
bottle  dealers,  marine-store  keepers ;  merchants  who  hold  out 
temptations  in  prose  and  verse,  adorned  with  apoplectic  nu- 
merals, to  cooks  and  housemaids  to  purloin  dripping,  kitchen- 
stuff,  and  old  wearing  apparel ;  barbers  who  "  shave  well  for  a 
halfpenny,"  shoe-vampers,  fried-fish  sellers,  a  coal  and  potato 
dealer,  and  a  bird-stuffer, — share  the  rest  of  the  street,  with 
lodging-houses  of  the  filthiest  description. 

In  the  month  of  July  1815  a  remarkable  scene  was  wit- 
nessed in  this  lane.  In  a  back-room  of  the  house  Xo.  14? 
(since  pulled  down  to  make  way  for  Day  &  ^Martin's  blacking 
manufactory),  the  body  of  a  young  woman,  who  had  a  few 
days  before  been  executed  at  Newgate  for  poisoning  the 
family,  in  which  she  was  cook,  with  arsenic,  was  exhibited  by 
her  parents  to  all  comers.  The  street  was  filled  with  crowds 
of  compassionate  or  inquisitive  gazers.  Money  was  freely 
given  and  readily  received.  This  extraordinary  exliibition 
continued  for  five  days.  On  the  31st  of  July,  a  funeral  pro- 
cession wound  its  way  up  Lamb's  Conduit  Street,  to  the  burial- 

^  Black  wood's  Magazine,  February  1861. 


ELIZA    PENNING.  373 

ground  at  the  back  of  the  Foundling  Hospital.  The  pall  was 
borne  by  six  young  women,  robed  in  white.  Thousands  of 
spectators  (it  is  stated,  in  the  papers  of  the  day,  as  many  as 
ten  thousand)  followed  the  coiiiu  to  the  grave,  and  crowded 
round  as  it  was  lowered  into  the  earth.  It  bore  upon  its  lid 
these  words — "Elizabeth  Penning,  died  July  26,  1815,  aged 
22  years."  From  that  day  to  this,  the  case  of  Eliza  Fenning 
has  been  cited  as  one  in  which  an  innocent  person  fell  a 
victim  to  the  hasty  judgment  of  a  prejudiced  and  incompetent 
tribunal.  Nor  must  it  be  supposed  that  this  feeling  has  been 
confined  to  an  ignorant  or  angry  populace.  Sir  Samuel 
Romilly  recorded  his  belief  in  her  innocence.  Curran  was 
in  the  habit  of  declaiming  in  glowing  words  on  the  injustice 
of  her  fate ;  and  even  recently  an  able  and  kind-hearted  man, 
whose  experience  of  criminal  inquiries  was  most  extensive, 
and  certainly  not  of  a  kind  to  induce  him  lightly  to  assume 
the  innocence  of  a  convicted  felon,  has  told  the  story  of  Eliza 
Fenning,  and  concludes  his  narrative  in  the  following  words  : 
"  Poor  Eliza  Fenning !  So  young,  so  fair,  so  innocent,  so  sacri- 
ficed !  Cut  down  even  in  thy  morning,  witli  all  life's  brightness 
only  in  its  dawn !  Little  did  it  profit  thee  that  a  city  mourned 
over  thy  early  grave,  and  that  the  most  eloquent  of  men  did 
justice  to  thy  memory."  ^ 

On  the  other  hand,  it  nmst  be  remembered  that  Fenning 
was  defended  by  able  couiisel;  that  after  her  conviction  the 
case  was  again  investigated  by  the  law  advisers  of  the  Crown ; 
that  the  trial  took  place  on  the  11th  of  April,  and  the  exe- 
cution was  delayed  until  the  2Gth  of  July — a  period  of  more 
than  three  months,  during  which  time  every  opportunity  was 
afforded  for  bringing  forward  any  circumstance  that  might  tell 
in  the  prisoner's  favour ;  that  the  result  of  this  inquiry,  the 
patience  and  impartiality  of  which  there  seems  to  be  no  reason- 
able ground  to  doubt,  was  a  confirmation  of  the  verdict  of  the 
jury.  Here,  then,  we  find  the  remarkable  fact,  that  in  a  case 
unattended  by  any  of  those  circumstances  which  would  be 
likely  to  excite  popular  sympathy  on  the  one  hand,  or  to 
pervert  the  judgment  of  the  ordinary  tribunals  on  the  other, 
*  Vacation  Thouglits  on  Capital  runisluucnts,  by  Cliarks  I'hillips  ;  p.  102. 


374  JUDICIAL    IMIZZl.KS. 

there  is  a  distinct  issue  between  the  decision  of  the  law  and 
the  verdict  of  public  opinion.  It  speaks  well  both  for  the 
people  and  for  the  tribunals  by  which  justice  is  administered, 
that  such  a  case  is  of  extreme  rarity  ;  and  it  is  an  interesting 
and  curious  inquiry  to  examine  the  facts  from  which  it  arises. 

Eliza  Penning  was  cook  in  the  family  of  a  Mr  Iiobert  Gregson 
Turner,  a  law  stationer  in  Chancery  Lane.  Tlie  family  con- 
sisted of  Turner,  his  wife,  two  apprentices  named  Gadsden  and 
King — youths  of  seventeen  or  eighteen  years  of  age,  who  lived 
in  the  house — a  housemaid  of  the  name  of  Sarah  Peer,  and  the 
prisoner.  Turner's  father,  Mr  Orlibar  Turner,  was  a  partner 
in  the  business,  but  resided  at  Lambeth.  On  Tuesday  the 
21st  of  March,  Orlibar  Turner  dined  with  his  son  and  his 
daughter-in-law.  Part  of  the  dinner  consisted  of  some  yeast 
dumplings,  of  which  all  three  partook.  They  had  hardly  done 
so,  when  they  were  attacked  by  violent  pain,  accompanied 
by  the  symptoms  of  arsenical  poisoning.  Soon  afterwards 
Gadsden,  one  of  the  apprentices,  who  had  dined  at  an  earlier 
hour,  came  into  the  kitchen,  and  finding  the  remains  of  the 
dumplings,  which  had  been  brought  down  from  the  parlour, 
ate  a  small  piece,  when  he  was  attacked  by  similar  symptoms. 
The  next  sufferer  was  Eliza  Penning  herself,  who  was  taken 
ill  in  a  like  manner,  later  in  the  afternoon.  Sarah  Peer,  and 
King,  the  other  apprentice,  who  had  dined  earlier  and  did  not 
eat  any  part  of  the  dumpling,  escaped. 

The  first  inquiry  is,  In  what  medium  was  the  poison  con- 
veyed ? 

All  the  persons  who  had  partaken  of  the  dumplings  were 
attacked  in  a  greater  or  less  degree.  The  Hour  from  wliich 
they  were  made  was  examined,  but  no  poison  found  ;  and  Pen- 
ning, Peer,  and  King,  had  dined  on  a  pie,  the  crust  of  which 
was  made  of  the  same  floiu-,  without  any  ill  effects.  The 
poison,  therefore,  was  not  in  the  flour.  Some  sauce  had  been 
served  in  a  boat  separate  from  the  dumplings,  and  of  this 
sauce  IMr  Orlibar  Turner  did  not  partake,  yet  he  was  one  of 
the  sufferers.  The  poison,  therefore,  was  not  in  the  sauce  ; 
nor  was  it  in  the  yeast,  the  remains  of  which  were  also  ex- 
amined.    There  was  what  would  now  be  considered  a  most 


ELIZA    PENNING.  375 

unaccountable  amount  of  carelessness  in  tlie  examination  of 
the  dumplings  themselves ;  but  the  remains  of  the  dough  left 
in  the  pan  in  which  they  were  prepared  was  examined,  and 
unquestionably  contained  arsenic.  Indeed,  no  reasonable 
ground  has  ever  been  suggested  for  doubting  that  the  poison 
was  contained  in  the  dumplings,  and  that  it  was  placed  there 
by  some  one  during  their  preparation. 

The  next  inquiry  is,  How  was  the  poison  procured  ? 

Mr  Turner  had  been  in  the  habit  of  using  arsenic  for  the 
destruction  of  rats  and  mice,  with  which  his  house  was  in- 
fested ;  and  the  poison  was  kept  with  the  most  culpable 
negligence.  It  lay  in  an  open  drawer  in  the  office,  unlocked, 
and  in  which  waste  paper  was  kept.  It  was  urged  that 
Penning  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  paper  from  the  drawer  for 
the  purpose  of  lighting  the  fire,  and  an  inference  was  sought 
to  be  drawn  from  that  circumstance  unfavourable  to  her.  It 
is  manifest  that  nothing  could  be  more  groundless.  Tlie 
arsenic  was  no  doubt  obtained  from  the  drawer — the  packet 
in  which  it  was  kept  having  been  missed  a  few  days  before ; 
but  there  was  not  one  particle  of  evidence,  with  regard  to  the 
abstraction  of  the  arsenic,  affecting  Penning  more  than  any 
other  member  of  the  family ;  for  to  that  drawer  all  the  persons 
in  the  house  had  easy  access. 

Fenning  had  been  in  the  service  about  seven  weeks.  Soon 
after  she  entered  it,  her  mistress  observed  some  levity  of  con- 
duct on  her  part  towards  the  apprentices,  and  reproved  her 
severely  for  it,  threatening  to  discharge  her ;  but  this  passed 
over ;  and,  with  this  exception,  she  does  not  appear  to  have 
had  any  discomfort  or  ground  of  ill-will  against  her  mistress, 
or  any  others  of  the  family.  We  look  in  vain,  therefore,  for 
any  adequate  motive  for  so  horrible  a  crime.  We  nnist  now 
trace  the  few  circumstances,  and  they  are  very  few,  which  the 
jury  considered  sufficient  to  lead  them  to  the  conclusion  of  the 
guilt  of  the  prisoner. 

On  the  morning  of  the  20th  of  ISIarch  some  yeast  was 
brought  to  the  house  by  the  brewer's  man,  which  had  been 
ordered  by  Fenning,  without  the  knowledge  of  her  mistress,  a 
day  or  two  before.     The  yeast  was  received  by  Sarah  Peer  the 


37G  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

liouscmaid,  wlio  poured  it  into  a  white  basin,  and  gave  it  to 
Feiiniii^f.  The  remains  of  tlie  yeast  was  afterwards  examined, 
and  found  to  be  perfeetly  ])ure.  On  Tuesday' morning,  the 
21st  Mareh,  Mrs  Turner  went  into  the  kitelien  and  gave 
lVnnin_<,r  directions  as  to  preparing  the  dumplings.  Fenning 
kneaded  the  dough,  made  the  dumplings,  was  in  the  kitchen 
the  whole  time  until  they  were  served  up  to  table,  and  during 
the  greater  part  of  that  time  was  there  alone — Mrs  Turner 
having  left  her  soon  after  giving  her  orders,  and  Sarah  Teer, 
the  housemaid,  being  engaged  on  her  duties  in  other  rooms. 
Fenning  tlierefore  had  ample  opportunity  to  mix  the  poison 
with  the  dumplings ;  and  it  is  diflicult  to  suppose  that  any 
other  person  could  have  meddled  with  them  without  her  being 
aware  of  the  fact.  Indeed,  she  herself  stated  that  no  other 
person  had  anything  to  do  with  the  dumplings.^  On  the 
renuiins  of  the  dinner  brought  down  into  the  kitchen,  Gadsden, 
as  we  have  before  stated,  came  in,  and  seeing  one  of  the 
dumplings,  took  up  a  knife  and  fork  and  was  going  to  eat  it, 
when  Fenning  exclaimed,  "  Gadsden,  do  not  eat  that :  it  is 
cold  and  heavy;  it  will  do  you  no  good."  Gadsden,  in  his 
evidence,  adds :  "  I  ate  a  piece  aliout  as  big  as  a  walnut,  or 
bigger.  There  was  a  small  quantity  of  sauce  in  the  boat :  I 
took  a  bit  of  bread  and  sopped  it  in  it,  and  ate  that."  ^  Gadsden 
was  taken  ill  about  ten  minutes  afterwards.  He  was  not, 
however,  too  ill  to  be  sent  for  the  elder  Turner's  wife,  jVIrs 
Margaret  Turner.  On  her  arrival,  she  found  her  husband, 
son,  and  daughter-in-law  extremely  iU ;  and  very  soon  after- 
wards Eliza  Fenning  herself  was  attacked  with  similar 
symptoms.  Here,  then,  we  find  this  curious  fact— all  the 
persons  who  have  partaken  of  the  dumplings  at  dinner  are 
ill :  Gadsden  is  warned  by  Fenning  not  to  eat  them ;  he 
neglects  the  warning,  and  is  almost  inmiediately  taken  ill 
in  the  same  manner;  he  is  sent  to  Lambeth  to  fetch  Mrs 
INIargaret  Turner ;  and  Fenning  is  not  taken  iU  until  after  her 
arrival.  Considering  the  distance  from  Chancery  Lane  to 
Lambeth,  this  must  have  been  a  considerable  interval.  As 
the  effects  of  the  poison  (even  when  taken  in  so  small  a  quan- 

^  7lst  Q.  2  shoit-haud  copy  of  the  Trial,  S^  Q. 


ELIZA    PENNING.  377 

tity  as  by  Gadsden)  were  almost  immediate,  it  follows  that 
Fenning  did  not  take  it  until  some  time  after  these  symptoms 
were  apparent  in  the  others,  and  subsequent  to  the  warning 
she  gave  Gadsden.  This  seems  to  dispose  of  the  arguments  in 
favour  of  her  innocence,  which  have  been  founded  on  the  fact 
of  her  having  been  herself  a  sufferer  from  the  poison.  AVliat 
miglit  be  her  motive  is  a  matter  involved  in  great  obscurity ; 
but  there  seems  to  be  no  doubt  that  she  took  it,  for  some 
reason  or  other,  after  she  had  seen  its  effects,  and  after  she 
had  seen  cause  to  warn  Gadsden  against  the  dumplings. 

This  very  slender  evidence  is  all  that  exists  apart  from  that 
which  is  derived  from  Fenning's  own  statements,  which  we 
shall  consider  presently. 

It  amounts  to  little  more  than  proof  that  Fenning  might 
easily  have  committed  the  crime,  and  that  it  is  difficult  to 
suppose  that  any  other  person  could.  The  poison  was  un- 
questionably in  the  dumplings ;  it  was  unquestionably  placed 
there  during  their  preparation.  "Who  but  Fenning  could  have 
done  this  ?  But  we  now  come  to  the  consideration  of  what 
appears  to  us  to  be  by  far  the  most  important  evidence  in  the 
case — namely,  the  statements  made  by  Eliza  Fenning  herself 

]\Irs  Turner  the  elder  arrived  at  the  house,  as  we  have  seen, 
in  the  afternoon.  She  is  asked  whether  she  had  any  conver- 
sation with  Fenning  on  the  subject : — 

"  90th  Q. — Did  you  say  anything  to  her  while  you  were 
there  that  day  respecting  the  dumplings  ? 

"  A. — I  exclaimed  to  her,  '  Oh,  these  devilish  dumplings  ! ' 
supposing  they  had  done  the  mischief.  She  said,  '  Not  the 
diLHiplings,  hut  the  milk,  madam.'  I  asked  her,  '  "What  milk  ? ' 
she  said,  '  The  halfpenny-worth  of  milk  tliat  Sally  had  fetched 
to  make  the  sauce.' 

"  9\st  Q. — Did  she  say  who  had  made  the  sauce  ? 

"  A. — My  daughter.  I  said,  '  That  cannot  be  ;  it  could  not 
be  the  sauce.'  She  said,  '  Yes ;  Gadsden  ate  a  very  little  bit 
of  dumpling,  not  bigger  than  a  nut,  but  licked  up  three  parts 
of  a  boat  of  sauce  with  a  bit  of  bread.' " 

During  the  whole  of  the  next  day,  Fenning,  in  reply  to  re- 
peated inquiries,  persisted  tliat  the  poi-son  was  in  the  milk  wliich 


.S78  .Ii;i)[(I.\L    I'UZZLES. 

was  futdied  by  Sarah  Peer,  and  used  for  the  sauce;  that  it 
was  not  in  the  duniplinj,fs ;  and  that  no  one  had  mixed  any- 
thing' in  the  dumplings,  or  liad  anytliing  to  do  with  them  but 
herself.     {Q.  GO,  70,  71.) 

We  have  already  adverted  to  the  fact  that  Mv  Turner,  who 
did  not  partake  of  the  sauce  (OAth  Q.),  was  as  ill  as  any  of  the 
others.  This  is  of  course  conclusive  of  the  fact  that  the  poison 
was  not  in  the  sauce,  or  at  any  rate  not  in  the  sauce  alone. 

The  arguments  in  favour  of  the  innocence  of  Fenning  have 
been  almost  entirely  based  on  the  fact  that  she  herself  par- 
took of  the  poisoned  dumplings.  As  we  have  already  seen, 
she  did  not  do  this  until  after  the  effects  had  been  produced 
upon  all  the  other  sufferers,  and  after  she  had  warned  Gadsden 
that  the  dumpling  was  "  cold  and  heavy,  and  would  do  him 
no  good."  Now,  in  order  to  support  the  hj'pothesis  of  her 
innocence,  it  must  be  supposed  that,  feeling  certain  that  she 
had  mixed  no  deleterious  article  in  the  dumplings,  that  no 
other  person  could  have  done  so,  she  eats  a  portion  of  them  to 
prove  her  conviction  of  that  fact ;  otherwise,  why,  when  she 
had  dined  a  short  time  before  on  beefsteak-pie,  should  she 
eat  the  "  cold  and  heavy  "  dumpling  which  she  had  warned 
Gadsden  not  to  meddle  with  ?  She  is  then  immediately  taken 
ill.  Supposing  she  were  innocent,  her  first  exclamation 
would  have  been  one  of  surprise.  "The  dumplings  are 
poisoned!  who  has  done  this?"  Instead  of  this,  she  seeks 
to  divert  suspicion  from  the  dumplings,  and  to  cast  it  upon 
the  milk  which  had  been  fetched  by  Sarah  Peer. 

This  ready  falsehood,  and  attempt  to  divert  the  suspicion 
which  was  pointing  at  her  towards  an  innocent  person,  ap- 
pears to  us  to  afford  strong  evidence  of  her  guilt ;  and  this 
evidence  is  strengthened  by  the  fact  that  even  in  her  false- 
hood she  was  not  consistent.  The  next  day,  when  she  was 
taken  into  custody,  she  changed  her  story.  We  find  no  more 
about  the  milk.  She  tells  the  constable  that  she  thiidvs  the 
poison  was  in  the  yeast,  that  she  saw  a  red  settlement  in  it. 
We  have  already  stated  that  the  remains  of  the  yeast  was 
examined,  and  nothing  whatever  of  a  deleterious  nature  dis- 
covered.    On  her  trial  she  abandoned  both  these  stories,  and 


ELIZA    PENNING.  379 

confined  herself  to  a  general  assertion  of  her  innocence,  in 
which  she  persisted  on  the  scaffold. 

Such,  then,  are  the  facts  proved  in  evidence  in  the  case  of 
Eliza  Fcnning.  We  have  purposely  abstained  from  alluding 
to  the  utterly  irrelevant  matter  with  which  the  papers  of  the 
day  were  filled.  On  the  one  side,  Eliza  Fenniiig  was  repre- 
sented as  a  paragon  of  beauty  and  virtue ;  on  the  other,  as  a 
monster  of  depravity  and  vice.  There  is  not  one  particle  of 
reason  for  believing  either  one  statement  or  the  other.  Until 
she  was  charged  with  the  crime  for  which  she  suflered,  she 
seems  to  have  been  very  much  like  any  other  commonplace 
servant  of  a  somewhat  low  class.  Is  there,  then,  evidence 
sufficient  to  lead  us,  after  a  dispassionate  consideration,  to  a 
conclusion  either  one  way  or  the  other  ?  We  confess  that  we 
think  there  is  ;  and  the  conclusion  at  which  we  arrive  is,  that 
Fenning  was  guilty. 

By  a  process  of  exhaustion  we  arrive  at  the  fact,  that  it  was 
hardly  possible  that  any  person  but  Fenning  could  have  in- 
troduced the  arsenic  into  the  dumplings.  This,  alone,  would 
perhaps  not  justify  us  in  coming  to  a  positive  conclusion  ;  but 
her  own  conduct,  her  false  and  contradictory  statements,  her 
warning  Gadsden,  and  her  eagerness  to  throw  the  blame  on  a 
person  who  was  undoubtedly  innocent,  leave  in  our  minds  no 
doubt  of  her  own  guilt. 

We  arc  met,  however,  by  two  difficulties.  First,  the  absence 
of  any  adequate  motive  for  the  crime ;  and,  secondly,  the  fact 
that  she  herself  partook  of  the  poisoned  dumplings. 

With  regard  to  the  first,  all  persons  who  have  any  practical 
experience  of  criminal  courts  know  how  slight  and  insignifi- 
cant are  the  motives  which  sometimes  impel  to  the  commis- 
sion of  the  most  appalling  crimes.  The  poisoning  even  of 
children  by  their  own  parents,  to  obtain  the  paltry  allowance 
made  by  burial-clubs  on  their  deaths,  became  so  common  a 
few  years  ago,  as  to  occasion  the  express  interference  of  the 
Legislature.  AVe  were  ourselves  present  at  the  trial  of  Betty 
Eccles.  That  wretched  woman  had  contracted  a  habit  of 
poisoning.  If  a  neighbour's  child  cried,  it  was  quieted  with 
a  dose  of  arsenic.     One  poor  little  victim,  not  suspecting  the 


380  .JUDICIAL    IM/ZLES. 

cause  of  licr  ajjony,  besought  the  murderess  to  take  her  to  the 
])uiiip  to  get  a  drink  of  water,  to  allay  the  burning  thirst  with 
whicli  she  was  tormented  ;  "  Thee  mayest  lie  where  thee  art," 
was  the  reply  ;  "  thee  won't  want  water  long."  When  incen- 
diary fires  were  rife,  many  instances  occun'ed  in  which  tlierc 
seemed  to  be  no  assignable  motive  at  all  beyond  the  mere 
desire  to  see  a  blaze  and  to  cause  an  excitement. 

The  genius  of  Scott  was  never  displayed  in  greater  vigour 
than  in  the  scene  where  Elspeth  of  the  Craigburnfoot  discloses 
to  Lord  Glenallan  the  conspiracy  which  resulted  in  the  death 
of  Eveline  Neville  ;  nor  is  his  knowledge  of  the  human  heaii 
more  completely  shown  by  anything,  than  the  trivial  cause 
which  he  assigns  for  Elspeth's  bitter  hatred  and  deep  revenge  : 
"  I  hated  Miss  Eveline  Neville  for  her  ain  sake.  I  brought  her 
frae  England,  and  during  our  whole  journey  she  gecked  and 
scorned  at  my  northern  speech  and  habit,  as  her  southland 
leddies  and  kimmers  had  done  at  the  boarding-school,  as 
they  ca'd  it."  Most  of  our  readers,  we  fear,  if  they  look 
honestly  back  through  their  own  experience,  will  be  able  to 
recall  some  domestic  tragedy  which  has  originated  in  as 
trivial  a  cause.  It  is  equally  true  of  crime  as  of  other  things, 
moral  and  physical,  that  the  most  monstrous  growth  often 
springs  from  the  most  minute  seed. 

With  regard  to  the  second  argument,  it  must  be  owned  that, 
if  the  dumplings  had  been  prepared  for  the  dinner  of  which 
Eenning  was  to  partake,  it  would  liave  been  one  of  consider- 
able force.  But  this  was  not  so.  Fenning  had  prepared  the 
dinner  for  herself,  her  fellow-servant,  Gadsden,  and  the  other 
aj)prentice.  She  made  the  crust  of  the  pie  from  the  same  flour 
which  was  used  for  the  dumplings,  but  no  one  suffered  from 
sharing  that  meal.  She  ate  the  dumpling  after  the  ill  effects 
had  been  experienced — after  she  had  cautioned  Gadsden. 
Whether  she  ran  the  risk  for  the  sake  of  concealing  her  crime, 
or  whether  she  desired  to  destroy  her  own  life,  it  is  impossible 
to  say.  It  has  been  asserted  that,  after  the  execution  of  Fen- 
ning, some  person  confessed  that  he  had  been  the  murderer. 
This  rests  on  mere  rumour.  We  have  reason  to  believe  that 
there  is  more  groimd  for  the  statement  which  has  also  been 


ELIZA    PENNING.  381 

made,  that  though  Eliza  Fenning  persisted  in  the  assertion  of 
her  innocence  in  public  and  to  the  Ordinary  of  Newgate,  yet 
that  she  confessed  her  guilt  to  another  person.  Neither  of 
these  reports,  however,  have  ever  assumed  a  tangible  form,  or 
one  which  would  enable  them  to  be  submitted  to  that  kind  of 
scrutiny  which  alone  could  give  them  value.  We  have  there- 
fore disregarded  them  altogether  in  considering  the  case,  and 
confined  our  attention  to  legitimate  evidence  alone.  We  attach 
but  little  value  to  Fenning's  assertion  of  her  innocence  on  the 
scaffold.  Few  weeks  have  passed  since  Mullins  was  executed, 
making  similar  protestations  ;  yet  we  presume  that  no  doubt 
exists  in  the  mind  of  any  sane  man  that  he  was  the  murderer 
of  Mrs  Emsley.  Gleeson  Wilson,  the  murderer  of  Mrs  llend- 
rickson  and  her  children,  persisted  to  the  last  in  asseverations 
of  his  innocence. 

We  have  said  that  it  is  rarely  that  public  opinion  fails  to 
confirm  the  decisions  of  our  criziiinal  courts.  We  attribute 
this  most  happy  circumstance  mainly  to  three  things :  the 
publicity  of  all  judicial  proceedings  ;  the  placing  all  issues  of 
fact  in  the  hands  of  the  jury;  and  the  freedom  of  the  judge 
from  any  part  in  the  conduct  of  the  trial.  But  we  shall  pro- 
bably startle  many  of  our  readers  when  we  say  that,  in  one 
most  important  particular,  we  think  that  one  of  the  oldest  and 
best-established  rules  of  our  criminal  law  might  be  consider- 
ably modified  with  advantage  to  the  ends  of  justice.  We 
allude  to  the  rule  which,  under  all  circumstances,  prohibits 
the  examination  of  a  person  charged  with  crime,  and  the  cor- 
relative or  complementary  rule  which  precludes  him  from 
giving  evidence  in  his  own  behalf.  No  rule  is  more  strictly 
observed  in  English  jurisprudence.  From  the  moment  that  a 
man  is  charged  with  a  crime  until  he  is  placed  at  the  bar  for 
trial,  he  is  hedged  round  with  precautions  to  prevent  him  from 
criminating  himself.  Upon  his  trial  he  cannot  be  asked  to 
explain  a  doubtful  or  suspicious  circumstance.  Wliether  he 
will  or  not,  his  mouth  is  closed,  except  for  the  purpose  of  cross- 
examining  the  witnesses,  until  all  the  evidence  has  been  heard 
against  him,  and  then  he  addresses  the  jury  with  tlie  disadvan- 
tage (and,  supposing  him  to  be  innocent,  it  is  a  very  serious 


382  JUDICIAf.    FMZZI.KH. 

(lisiidvantagc)  that  even  the  jury  or  the  judf,'C  cannot  \)\it  any 
qestion  to  him  which  might  enable  him  to  clear  up  what  was 
obscure,  or  to  explain  what  might  appear  to  be  suspicious  in 
liis  conduct.  The  armour  with  which  the  law  thus  shields  the 
guilty  becomes  an  encumbrance  upon  the  innocent. 

The  rule  originates,  no  doubt,  in  a  love  of  fair  play.  Every 
man  is  entitled  to  be  considered  innocent  until  he  is  proved 
to  be  guilty.  You  must  not  make  a  man  criminate  himself. 
These  are  aphorisms  in  which  we  fully  agree.  But  it  is  equally 
true  that  you  ought  to  give  every  man  the  utmost  freedom  to 
prove  that  he  is  innocent,  and  to  exculpate  himself. 

We  are  fully  aware  of  the  evils  that  arise  from  the  system 
pursued  in  the  French  courts,  where  the  judge  interrogates  the 
culprit  (we  use  the  word  in  its  legal  sense  of  an  acaiscd  per- 
son, not  in  its  popular  meaning  of  a  guilty  one),  where  the 
grave  judicial  inquiry  degenerates  into  a  "keen  encounter  of 
their  wits,"  and  the  hand  which  ought  to  hold  the  balance 
steady,  wields,  instead,  the  sword  of  the  combatant.  We  know, 
too,  the  still  greater  evils  that  attend  the  system  of  secret 
examination  by  the  judge,  which  prevails  in  other  Continental 
States,  and  with  which  the  readers  of  Feuerbach  are  familiar ; 
and  we  would  far  rather  retain  the  imperfections  of  our  own 
system  than  adopt  the  infinitely  worse  mischiefs  which  are 
attendant  upon  either.  Still,  the  reverse  of  wrong  is  not  neces- 
sarily right ;  and  our  own  course  of  proceeding  might,  we  think, 
be  modified  with  advantage. 

In  the  present  state  of  the  law  this  curious  anomaly  exists, 
that  in  the  very  same  state  of  facts,  it  depends  upon  whether 
the  proceeding  is  civil  or  criminal  whether  the  mouth  of  the 
accused  person  is  closed  or  not.  A  and  his  wife,  walking  home 
at  night,  are  met  by  B  and  his  wife,  when  B  knocks  A  down. 
A  indicts  B  for  the  assault,  and  this  being  a  criminal  proceed- 
ing, A  and  his  wife  give  their  evidence  upon  oath,  whilst 
neither  B  nor  his  wife  can  be  examined  at  all.  But  suppose 
that,  instead  of  indicting  B,  A  had  brought  an  action  against 
him,  the  whole  case  is  changed.  Now  A  and  B,  and  their 
respective  wives,  can  all  be  examined  and  cross-examined. 
Can  there  be  a  doubt  which  course  is  most  conducive  to  the 


ELIZA   PENNING.  383 

elucidation  of  the  truth  ;  and  can  a  grosser  absurdity  be  con- 
ceived than  that  the  same  court  should  adopt  modes  of  pro- 
cedure so  inconsistent  in  an  inquiry  into  the  same  facts,  before 
the  same  judge  and  the  same  jury,  and  practically  between  the 
same  parties  ? 

A  case  occurred  last  summer  which  excited  great  interest, 
and  which  forcibly  illustrates  the  evil  we  complain  of. 

A  clergyman  of  the  name  of  Hatch  was  indicted  for  a  gross 
offence  alleged  to  have  been  committed  upon  a  child  of  tender 
years,  who  had  been  intrusted  to  his  care  as  a  pupil.  The 
charge  rested  almost  solely  on  the  evidence  of  the  child,  a  girl 
of  the  name  of  Eugenia  Plummer.  Neither  Hatch  nor  his  wife 
could  be  examined,  and,  as  theirs  was  the  only  testimony  by 
which,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  the  charge  could  be  re- 
butted. Hatch  was  convicted.  Under  the  circumstances,  it  was 
hardly  possible  that  the  jury  could  come  to  any  other  conclu- 
sion. A  few  weeks  elapsed,  and  Eugenia  Plummer  was  placed 
at  the  same  bar,  charged  with  perjury.  Then  the  tables  were 
turned.  Hatch  and  his  wife  were  examined:  the  child's  mouth 
was  closed.  The  jury  convicted  Eugenia  Plummer  of  perjuiy. 
On  the  evidence  before  the  jury  no  other  result  could  reason- 
ably have  been  expected.  Both  the  juries  discharged  their 
duties  with  honesty  and  intelligence.  Both  were  assisted  in 
their  deliberations  by  judges  of  the  highest  character  and  the 
greatest  experience  and  ability,  yet  one  jury  or  the  other  con- 
victed an  innocent  person.  If  Plummer  was  guilty.  Hatch  was 
innocent ;  if  Hatch  was  guilty,  Plummer  was  herself  the  double 
victim  of  his  brutality  and  his  perjury.  We  express  no  opin- 
ion whatever  as  to  wliich  jury  was  right,  but  it  is  manifest 
that  both  could  not  be.  It  must,  we  think,  be  clear  to  every 
one,  that  tlic  only  way  in  which  a  case  of  this  kind  could  be 
satisfactorily  tried  must  be  by  confronting  and  examining  both 
the  parties.  To  attempt  to  try  such  issues  separately  is  like 
trying  to  cut  a  knot  with  the  two  disunited  halves  of  a  pair  of 
scissors. 

If,  upon  one  trial,  both  could  have  been  examined,  the 
inquiry  would  very  possibly  have  terminated  in  the  acquittal 
of  both.     In  other  words;,  the  jury  miglit  liavo  found  tlie  ovi- 


384  JUDICIAL  rrzzLK.s. 

dencc  of  both  so  unsatisfactory  that  they  could  not  found  any 
decision  upon  it.  Such  a  result,  certainly,  would  not  liave 
been  desirable,  yet  it  would  have  been  far  less  objectionable 
than  what  has  actually  taken  place.  The  conviction  of  P^ufi;enia 
Plummer  for  perjury  has  operated  as  a  virtual  acquittal  of 
Hatch.  But  eveiy  one  must  feel  that  that  acquittal  having 
been  obtained  when  the  mouth  of  the  only  material  witness 
against  him  was  closed,  is  far  less  satisfactory  than  it  would 
have  been  if  it  had  resulted  from  the  decision  of  a  jury  who 
had  heard  the  evidence  of  Plummer. 

The  case  of  Elizabeth  Canning,  which  we  examined  at  length 
in  a  former  number,  was  of  the  same  description.  Squires 
was  convicted  of  felony  on  the  evidence  of  Canning,  and  Can- 
ning was  subsequently  convicted  of  perjury  committed  in  that 
very  evidence.  On  the  first  trial  Squires  coidd  not  be  ex- 
amined ;  on  the  second,  Canning  was  silenced,  and  both  the 
accused  persons  were  convicted.  Such  cases  are  of  frequent 
occurrence,  and  they  are  always  attended  by  this  evil,  that, 
whether  rightly  or  not,  public  opinion  will  unavoidably  be 
divided  as  to  the  result.  The  conviction  of  Canning  hardly 
diminished  either  the  number  or  the  zeal  of  those  who  had 
espoused  her  cause  ;  and  it  would  probably  be  found  that  the 
juries  who  came  to  conflicting  decisions  in  the  cases  of  Hatch 
and  Eugenia  Plummer,  represent,  not  unfairly,  the  diversities 
of  public  opinion. 

The  remedy  we  would  suggest  is,  that  in  all  cases  a  culprit 
should  be  permitted  to  tender  himself  for  examination,  "NVe 
think  that  to  allow  the  prosecutor  to  call  the  culprit,  and  to 
examine  him  whether  he  would  or  no,  woidd  be  attended  with 
evils  greater  than  any  advantage  to  be  derived  from  such  a 
course — evils  less  in  degree,  though  the  same  in  kind,  as  those 
which  make  us  shrink  with  horror  from  the  idea  of  extracting 
even  truth  by  the  means  of  torture — means  which  have  never 
been  used  in  our  courts  since  they  were  adopted  by  the  express 
command  of  that  queen  whom  Lord  Macaulay  has  held  up  to 
us  as  the  pattern  of  every  gentle  and  feminine  virtue,  and  her 
ruthless  husband.  If  an  accused  person  choose  to  remain 
silent,  or  to  make  his  statement  to  the  jury  without  the  sane- 


ELIZA    PENNING.  385 

tion  of  an  oath,  and  without  submitting  its  truth  to  the  test  of 
cross-examination,  he  should  be  fully  at  liberty  to  do  so,  sub- 
ject, of  course,  to  the  unfavourable  effect  which  sucli  a  proceed- 
ing would  unavoidably  have  on  the  minds  of  the  jury.  That 
this  would  be  the  line  taken  by  the  guilty  would  no  doubt 
frequently  be  the  case  ;  but  every  innocent  man  would,  we 
believe,  gladly  adopt  the  other  course.  We  have  heard  it 
urged  that  the  ignorant,  the  stupid,  or  the  timid  man  woidd 
be  thus  placed  at  a  disadvantage  when  exposed  to  the  cross- 
examination  of  an  experienced,  acute,  and  possibly  not  very 
scrupulous  counsel.  We  believe,  on  the  contrary,  that  such 
a  person  is  the  veiy  one  to  whom  (supposing  him  to  be  inno- 
cent) the  course  we  suggest  would  be  of  the  greatest  advan- 
tage. What  is  the  position  of  such  a  man  now  ?  He  is  left 
to  blunder  his  story  out  as  best  he  may,  casting  it  before  the 
jury  in  a  confused  unintelligible  mass,  with,  very  possibly,  the 
most  material  parts  wholly  omitted.  If  our  suggestion  were 
adopted,  the  thread  of  his  narrative  would  be  drawn  from  the 
tangled  skein  by  the  hand  of  an  experienced  advocate — its 
consistency  and  its  truth  would  be  tested  by  cross-examina- 
tion, and  confirmed  by  re-examination.  A  greater  boon  to  the 
ignorant  or  timid  man  falsely  accused  of  crime,  than  such  a 
mode  of  exculpating  himself,  we  can  hardly  conceive. 

The  ultimate  object  of  all  criminal  jurisprudence  is  the 
safety  of  society.  When  a  crime  is  committed,  especially  if  it 
is  one  of  a  nature  to  excite  extreme  horror  and  detestation,  the 
first  and  most  natural  impulse  is,  to  fix  the  guilt  upon  some  one. 
Outraged  humanity  and  public  indignation  demand  a  victim. 
In  the  case  of  the  Road  murder,  we  have  seen  persons  who, 
from  their  position  and  education,  ought  to  know  better,  call- 
ing out  for  the  abandonment  of  the  established  forms  of  law 
and  justice,  and  the  adoption  of  some  new  and  inquisitorial 
mode  of  proceeding.  We  have  seen  a  magistrate  holding  a 
sort  of  extrajudicial  court,  listening  to,  and  even  asking  for, 
the  most  absurd  and  irrelevant  gossip,  and  exposing  the  gravest 
and  most  serious  inquiry  to  ridicule. 

To  attempt  to  supply  a  defect  by  adopting  an  exceptional 
course  of  proceeding  in  an  individual  case,  would  only  be  to 

2  B 


38G  JUDICIAL  rr/zij:s. 

introduce  a  mischief  of  fur  greater  magnitude.  It  is  far 
better  tliat  an  individual  crime,  however  horrible,  sliould  re- 
main unpnnislicd,  tlian  that  rules  established  for  the  purposes 
of  justice  should  be  strained  or  set  aside.  But  it  is  well  that 
we  sliould  consider  carefully  whether  those  rules  rest  on  a 
sound  foundation.  We  have,  with  great  advantage,  abandoned 
the  rule  which  formerly  excluded  the  parties  to  civil  suits 
from  giving  evidence.  We  believe  that  nothing  but  good 
would  result  from  the  removal  of  the  anomaly  which  still  ex- 
ists in  our  criminal  courts  when  the  accuser  is  sworn,  and  gives 
his  evidence  on  oath,  whilst  the  accused  is  refused  the  same 
sanction  to  his  denial  of  the  charge. 


387 


V. 


SPENCER    COWPERS    CASE 


At  the  summer  assizes  at  Hertford,  on  the  16th  of  July  1699,  a 
young  barrister,  rising  into  eminence  in  his  profession,  the  son 
of  a  baronet  of  ancient  family,  who  was  one  of  the  representa- 
tives, and  the  brother  of  a  King's  Counsel,  who  was  the  other 
representative  of  the  town  in  Parliament,  held  up  his  hand  at 
the  bar  to  answer  a  charge  of  murder.  It  was  not  for  blood, 
shed  in  an  angry  brawl — it  was  not  for  vindicating  his  honour 
by  his  sword  in  defiance  of  the  law,  that  Spencer  Cowper  was 
arraigned.  He  was  accused  of  having  deliberately  murdered  a 
woman,  whose  only  fault  was  having  loved  him  too  devotedly, 
and  trusted  him  too  implicitly.  He  was  called  upon  to  i)lead 
to  a  charge  which,  if  proved,  would  not  only  consign  his  body 
to  the  gibbet,  but  his  name  to  eternal  infamy. 

Sarah  Stout  was  the  only  daughter  of  a  Quaker  maltster  in 
the  town  of  Hertford.  Her  father  was  an  active  and  inlhien- 
tial  supporter  of  the  Cowpers  at  the  elections,  and  the  kind 
of  intimacy  which  ordinarily  takes  place  under  such  circum- 
stances arose  between  the  families.  Attentions,  highly  Ihitter- 
ing  no  doubt  to  their  vanity,  were  paid  to  the  wife  and  daugh- 
ter of  the  tradesman  by  the  ladies  of  the  baronet's  family ;  and 
an  intimacy  arose  between  Spencer  Cowper  and  Sarah,  wliich 
did  not  cease  when  she  was  left  an  orphan  upon  the  deatli  of 
her  father,  and  he  became  the  husband  of  another  woman. 
He  managed  the  little  fortune  which  had  been  bequeathed  to 
her;  he  occasionally  took  up  his  abode  (wlietlier  as  a  guest  or 
a  lodger  docs  not  appeav)  at  her  motlier's  house,  when  busi- 
'  Blackwood's  Magazine,  July  18G1. 


388  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

noss  called  hiia  to  Hertford;  and  he  unhappily  inspired  her 
with  a  violent,  and,  as  the  event  proved,  a  fatal  passion. 

Never  did  the  truth  of  the  proverb,  "  Cucullus  non  facit 
inonacliuni,"  or  rather,  in  this  case,  monachaiyi,  receive  a 
stronger  confirmation  than  from  the  story  of  poor  Sarah  Stout. 
Stormy  passions  beat  under  the  dove-coloured  bodice,  and 
flashed  from  the  eyes  which  were  shaded  by  the  close  white 
cap  and  poke  bonnet  of  the  Quakeress.  Her  whole  heart  and 
soul  were  given  to  Spencer  Cowper.  A  man  of  sense  and 
honour  would,  under  such  circumstances,  at  once  have  broken 
off"  the  connection,  and  saved  the  girl,  at  the  cost  of  some  pre- 
sent suffering,  from  future  guilt  and  misery,  A  man  of  weak 
determination  and  kind  feelings  might  have  got  hopelessly  in- 
volved in  attempting  to  avoid  inflicting  pain.  Cowper  did 
neither.  Ho  carried  on  a  clandestine  correspondence  with  her 
under  feigned  names,  and  received  letters  from  her  breathing  the 
most  ardent  passion,  which  he  displayed  amongst  his  profli- 
gate associates.  He  introduced  a  friend  to  her  as  a  suitor, 
and  then  betrayed  to  that  friend  the  secrets  which,  above  all 
others,  a  man  of  honour  is  bound  to  guard  with  the  strictest 
fidelity.  He  behaved  as  ill  as  a  man  could  do  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. 

On  the  morning  of  Monday  the  13th  of  March,  the  first  day 
of  the  spring  assizes  of  1699,  Spencer  Cowper  arrived  in  Hert- 
ford, travelling  (as  was  then  the  custom  of  the  bar)  on  horse- 
back. He  went  direct  to  the  house  of  Mrs  Stout,  where  he 
was  expected,  in  consequence  of  a  letter  which  had  been 
written,  announcing  his  intended  visit.  He  was  asked  to 
alight,  but  declined  to  do  so,  as  he  wished  to  show  himself  in 
the  town.  He  promised,  however,  to  send  his  horse,  and  to 
come  himself  to  dinner.  This  promise  he  kept,  and  having 
dined  with  Mrs  Stout  and  her  daughter,  he  left  the  house 
about  four  o'clock,  saying  that  he  had  business  in  the  town, 
but  that  he  would  return  in  the  evening.  At  nine  he  returned, 
asked  for  pen,  ink,  and  paper  to  write  to  his  wife,  and  had  his 
supper.  Mrs  Stout,  the  mother,  went  to  bed,  leaving  Spencer 
Cowper  and  her  daughter  together,  orders  having  been  given 
to  make  a  fire  in  his  room.     Between  ten  and  eleven  o'clock 


SPENCER    COWPEr's    CASE,  389 

Sarah  called  the  servant-girl,  and,  in  Cowper's  hearing,  desired 
her  to  warm  his  bed.  She  went  up-stairs  for  that  purpose, 
leaving  Spencer  Cowper  and  Sarah  alone  in  the  parlour  to- 
gether. As  she  went  up-stairs  she  heard  the  house- clock 
(which  was  half  an  hour  too  fast)  strike  eleven.  In  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards  she  heard  the  house-door  shut 
to,  and,  supposing  that  Cowper  had  gone  to  post  his  letter,  she 
remained  warming  his  bed  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  longer. 
She  then  went  down -stairs,  and  found  that  both  Spencer 
Cowper  and  her  young  mistress  were  gone. 

The  mother  could  not  be  examined  upon  the  trial  as  she  was 
a  Quaker,  and  could  not  take  an  oath.  The  account  of  the  trans- 
actions of  that  day,  therefore,  rests  solely  upon  the  evidence  of 
Sarah  Walker,  the  servant,  who  deponed  as  follows  : — 

"  May  it  please  you,  my  lord,  on  Friday  before  the  last  as- 
sizes, Mr  Cowper's  wife  sent  a  letter  to  Mrs  Stout,  that  she 
might  expect  Mr  Cowper  at  the  assize-time  ;  and  therefore  we 
expected  Mr  Cowper  at  that  time,  and  accordingly  provided ; 
and  as  he  came  in  with  the  judges,  she  asked  him  if  he  would 
alight?  lie  said,  'No;  by  reason  I  came  in  later  than  usual, 
I  will  go  into  the  town  and  show  myself,'  but  he  would  send 
his  horse  presently.  She  asked  him  how  long  it  would  be  be- 
fore he  would  come,  because  they  would  stay  for  him  ?  Ho 
said  he  could  not  tell,  but  he  would  send  her  word  ;  and  she 
thought  he  had  forgot,  and  sent  me  down  to  know  whether  he 
would  please  to  come  ?  He  said  he  had  business,  and  he 
could  not  come  just  then ;  but  he  came  in  less  than  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  after,  and  dined  there,  and  he  went  away  at  four 
o'clock ;  and  then  my  mistress  asked  him  if  he  would  lie 
there?  And  he  answered  yes,  and  he  came  at  night  about 
nine  ;  and  he  sat  talking  about  half  an  hour,  and  thou  callcil 
for  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  for  that,  as  he  said,  he  wa.s  to  write 
to  his  wife;  which  was  brought  him,  and  he  wrote  a  letter; 
and  then  my  mistress  went  and  asked  him  what  he  would 
have  for  supper  ?  He  said  milk,  by  reason  he  had  made  a 
good  dinner ;  and  I  got  him  his  su])]ier,  aiul  he  eat  it ;  after 
she  called  me  in  again,  and  they  were  talking  together,  and 
then  she  bid  me  make  a  fire  in  his  chamber ;  and  when  I  had 


390  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

done  80,  I  cainc  and  told  liini  of  it,  and  ho  looked  at  nic,  and 
made  niG  no  answer ;  then  she  bid  me  warm  the  bed,  which 
accordingly  I  went  np  to  do  as  the  clock  struck  eleven ;  and 
in  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  I  heard  the  door  shut,  and  I 
thought  he  was  gone  to  convey  the  letter,  and  stayed  about  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  longer,  and  came  down,  and  he  was  gone 
and  she  ;  and  Mrs  Stout  the  U) other  asked  me  the  reason  why 
he  went  out  when  I  was  warming  his  bed  ?  And'  she  asked 
me  for  my  mistress,  and  I  told  her  I  left  her  with  Mr  Cowper ; 
and  I  never  saw  her  after  that,  nor  did  Mr  Cowper  return  to 
the  house."  ^ 

Cowper,  who  defended  himself  with  great  ability,  asked  the 
witness  in  cross-examination — 

"  When  you  came  down  and  missed  your  mistress,  did  you 
inquire  after  her  all  that  night  ? 

"  A. — No,  sir,  I  did  not  go  out  of  the  doors  ;  I  thought  you 
were  with  her,  and  so  I  thought  she  would  come  to  no  harm. 

"  Mr  Coiopcr. — Here  is  a  whole  night  she  gives  no  account 
of.     Pray,  mistress,  why  did  you  not  go  after  her  ? 

"^. — My  mistress  would  not  let  me. 

"  Mr  Cotcpcr. — Why  would  she  not  let'you  ? 

"  A. — I  said  I  would  seek  for  her.  '  No,'  says  she,  '  by  reason 
if  you  go  and  seek  for  her,  and  do  not  find  her,  it  will  make 
an  alarm  over  the  town,  and  there  may  be  no  occasion.'"  ^ 

^laternal  solicitude  could  not  be  veiy  strong  in  the  breast 
of  Mrs  Stout,  or  she  was  disposed  to  place  a  more  than  ordi- 
nary degree  of  confidence  in  the  discretion  of  her  daughter 
and  young  Cowper.  Sarah  Stout  was  never  again  seen  alive. 
The  next  morning  her  body  was  found  in  a  mill-dam  some- 
thing less  than  a  mile  distant.  CoAvper  never  returned  to  Mrs 
Stout's  ;  he  was  seen  at  an  inn  in  the  town  at  eleven,  and 
arrived  at  other  lodgings,  which  he  had  hired  in  the  town,  at 
a  quarter  past.  Here  the  evidence  ends.  A  vast  amount  of 
testimony  was  given  at  the  trial,  as  to  whether  the  body  of  the 
girl  floated  or  not;  as  to  whether  a  body  thrown  into  the 
water  after  death  would  float  or  sink ;  but  it  came  to  nothing. 
The  coroner's  inquest  had  been  hurried  over,  and  no  examina- 

^  13  state  Trials,  1112.  "  Ibid.,  1114. 


SPENCER    COWPER'S    CASE.  391 

tion  of  the  body  had  taken  place  until  long  after  decomposi- 
tion had  proceeded  too  far  to  allow  of  any  satisfactory  result 
being  arrived  at. 

In  a  former  number^  we  observed  on  the  effect  of  the  rule  of 
law  which  excludes  a  prisoner  not  only  from  giving  evidence 
on  his  own  behalf,  but  also  from  tendering  himself  for 
cross-examination.  If  Cowper  was  innocent,  that  rule  bore 
hardly  upon  him  in  the  present  case.  We  will,  however,  give 
him  the  full  benefit  of  his  own  account  of  the  matter.  lie 
said^ — and  in  this  he  was  confirmed  by  the  evidence  of  his 
brother — that  having  received  a  pressing  invitation  to  take  up 
his  quarters  during  the  assizes  at  Mrs  Stout's,  he  had  resolved 
to  do  so,  his  object  being  to  save  the  expense  of  other  lodgings 
at  the  house  of  a  person  of  the  name  of  Barefoot,  where  he 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  staying  with  his  brother.  Finding 
that  his  brother  would  be  detained  in  London  by  his  parlia- 
mentary duties,  he  requested  him  to  write  and  countermand 
the  lodgings  at  Barefoot's.  This  he  neglected  to  do,  and  on 
Spencer  Cowper's  arrival  at  Hertford  he  found  them  prepared 
for  him.  Finding  that  he  should  have  at  any  rate  to  pay  for 
these  lodgings,  which  were  nearer  to  the  court-house  and  more 
commodious  than  ]\Irs  Stout's,  he  determined  to  occupy  them. 
His  account  is  as  follows  : — 

"  My  lord,  as  to  my  coming  to  this  town  on  Monday,  it  was 
the  first  day  of  the  assizes,  and  that  was  the  reason  that 
brought  me  hither :  before  I  came  out  of  town,  I  confess,  I 
had  a  design  to  take  a  lodging  at  this  gentlewoman's  house, 
having  been  invited  by  letter  so  to  do ;  and  the  reason  why 
I  did  not  was  this :  my  brother,  when  he  went  the  circuit, 
always  favoured  me  with  the  offer  of  a  part  of  his  lodgings, 
which,  out  of  good  husbandry,  I  always  accepted.  The  last 
circuit  was  in  Parliament-tiuie,  and  my  brother,  being  in  the 
money-chair,  could  not  attend  the  circuit  as  he  used  to  do  :  he 
had  very  good  lodgings,  I  tliink  one  of  the  best  in  this  town, 
where  I  used  to  be  with  liim  ;  these  were  always  kept  for  liim, 
unless  notice  was  given  to  the  contrary.  The  Friday  before  I 
came  down  to  the  assizes  1  happened  to  be  in  company  with 

1  Ante,  Eliza  Finning's  Case.  ■  13  State  Trials,  1149. 


302  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

my  brother  and  another  gentleman,  and  tlun  I  showed  tlieni 
the  letter  by  which  I  was  earnestly  invited  down  to  lie  at  the 
house  of  this  gentlewoman  during  the  assizes  [it  is  dated  the 
9th  of  March  last]  ;  and  designing  to  comply  with  the  invita- 
tion, I  thereupon  desired  my  brother  to  write  to  ^Ir  Barefoot, 
our  landlord,  and  get  him,  if  he  could,  to  dispose  of  the  lodg- 
ings ;  for,  said  I,  if  he  keeps  them,  they  must  be  paid  for,  and 
then  I  cannot  well  avoid  lying  there.  My  brother  did  say  he 
would  write,  if  he  could  think  on  it ;  and  thus,  if  ^Mr  Barefoot 
disposed  of  the  lodgings,  I  own  I  intended  to  lie  at  the  de- 
ceased's house ;  but  if  not,  I  looked  on  myself  obliged  to  lie  at 
Mr  Barefoot's.  Accordingly  I  shall  prove,  as  soon  as  ever  I 
came  to  this  town,  in  the  morning  of  the  first  day  of  the  as- 
sizes, I  went  directly  to  Mr  Barefoot's  [the  maid  and  all  agreed 
in  this],  and  the  reason  was,  I  had  not  seen  my  brother  after 
he  said  he  would  write,  before  I  went  out  to  London;  and 
therefore  it  was  proper  for  me  to  go  first  to  Mr  Barefoot's  to 
know  wdiether  my  brother  had  wrote  to  him,  and  whether  he 
had  disposed  of  his  lodgings  or  not.  As  soon  as  I  came  to  Mr 
Barefoot's,  I  asked  his  wife  and  maid-servant,  one  after  another, 
if  they  had  received  a  letter  from  my  brother  to  unbespeak  the 
lodgings ;  they  told  me  no,  that  the  room  was  kept  for  us ;  and 
I  think  they  had  made  a  fire,  and  that  the  sheets  were  airing. 
I  w'as  a  little  concerned  he  had  not  writ ;  but  being  satisfied 
that  no  letter  had  been  received,  I  said  immediately,  as  I  shall 
prove  by  several  witnesses,  if  it  be  so,  I  must  stay  with  you  ; 
I  will  take  up  my  lodging  here.  Thereupon  I  alighted,  and 
sent  for  my  bag  to  the  coftee-house,  and  lodged  all  my  things 
at  Barefoot's,  and  thus  I  took  up  my  lodging  there  as  usual. 
I  had  no  sooner  done  this,  but  Sarah  Walker  came  to  me  from 
her  mistress  to  invite  me  to  dinner,  and  accordingly  I  went 
and  dined  there ;  and  when  I  went  away,  it  may  be  tnie  that, 
being  asked,  I  said  I  would  come  again  at  night ;  but  that  I 
said  I  would  lie  there,  I  do  positively  deny;  and  knowing  I  could 
not  lie  there,  it  is  unlikely  I  should  say  so.  My  lord,  at 
night  I  did  come  again,  and  paid  her  some  money  that  I  re- 
ceived from  j\Ir  Loftus,  who  is  the  mortgager,  for  interest  of 
the  £200  I  before  mentioned  [it  was  £G,  odd  money,  in  guineas 


SPENCER    COWPER's    CASE.  393 

and  half-guineas] :  I  writ  a  receipt,  but  she  declined  the  sign- 
ing of  it,  pressing  me  to  stay  there  that  night ;  which  I  refused, 
as  engaged  to  lie  at  Mr  Barefoot's,  and  took  my  leave  of  her ; 
and  that  very  money  which  I  paid  her  was  found  in  her 
pocket,  as  I  have  heard,  after  she  was  drowned."  ^ 

When  Cowper  recurs,  at  a  later  period  of  the  trial,  to  tho 
events  of  that  night,  he  says — "  Now,  if  your  lordship  pleases, 
I  would  explain  that  part  of  Sarah  Walker  the  maid's  evidence, 
when  she  says  her  mistress  ordered  her  to  warm  the  l)ed,  and 
I  never  contradicted  it."  And  after  calling  the  attention  of 
the  court  to  the  warm  expressions  contained  in  the  letter  he 
had  received  from  the  girl,  he  goes  on — 

"  I  had  rather  leave  it  to  be  observed  than  make  the  obser- 
vation myself,  what  might  be  the  dispute  between  us  at  the 
time  the  maid  speaks  of.  I  think  it  was  not  necessary  she 
should  be  present  at  the  debate ;  and  therefore  I  might  not 
interrupt  her  mistress  or  the  orders  she  gave ;  but  as  soon  as 
the  maid  was  gone  I  made  use  of  these  objections  ;  and  I  told 
Mrs  Stout  by  what  accident  I  was  obliged  to  take  up  my 
lodging  at  Mr  Barefoot's,  and  that  the  family  was  sitting  up 
for  me ;  that  my  staying  at  her  house,  under  these  circum- 
stances, would  in  all  probability  provoke  the  censure  of  the 
town  and  country,  and  that  therefore  I  coidd  not  stay,  what- 
ever my  inclination  otherwise  might  be ;  but,  my  lord,  my 
reasons  not  prevailing,  I  was  forced  to  decide  the  controversy 
by  going  to  my  lodging;  so  that  the  maid  may  swear  true 
when  she  says  I  did  not  contradict  her  orders."  ^ 

It  will  be  observed  that  Cowper  first  puts  his  change  of 
intention  as  to  staying  at  Mrs  Stout's  solely  on  the  gi-ound  of 
having  other  lodgings  on  his  hands.  He  says  that  until  he 
found  those  lodgings  were  engaged,  he  had  determined  to  take 
up  his  abode  at  ]\lrs  Stout's.  The  question  was  simply  one  of 
the  cost  of  the  lodgings.  When,  however,  he  has  to  account 
for  the  servant- girl's  evidence  as  to  his  consent  to  the  prepara- 
tions for  his  passing  the  night  there,  orders  for  which  were 
given  in  his  presence,  then,  for  the  first  time,  he  begins  to  talk 
of  "provoking  the  censure  of  the  town  and  country."^  Jt  is 
1  13  State  Triuls,  1150.  '  Ibid.,  1170.  ^  ^.i^j^  n'-j^ 


394  .JUDKIAL    PUZZLES. 

impossible  to  know  what  took  place  after  the  servant-girl  left 
the  room.  Cowpcr  liimsclf  leaves  it  unexplained  whether  he 
left  Sarah  Stout  in  the  house,  or  whether  she  quitted  it  at  tlic 
same  time  that  he  did.  The  latter  would  seem  to  be  the  more 
probable  conjecture,  from  the  fact  that  the  door  was  only  heard 
to  shut  once,  and  it  was  proved  that  it  was  not  easy  to  shut 
the  door  without  being  heard.  If  Cowper  had  been  entitled 
to  submit  himself  to  cross-examination,  these  facts  might  have 
been,  and  probably  would  have  been,  explained. 

Here  not  only  the  evidence  but  the  whole  substance  of 
Cowper's  defence  ends.  The  trial  was  prolonged  by  an  enor- 
mous mass  of  testimony,  partly  from  men  of  the  highest  emi- 
nence in  the  medical  profession,  and  partly  from  persons  who 
had  seen  great  numbers  of  bodies,  some  of  which  had  been 
thrown  into  the  sea  after  death,  and  others  of  which  had  been 
drowned  in  naval  engagements  and  shipwrecks,  as  to  whether 
the  fact  of  a  body  floating  afforded  any  evidence  that  life  was 
extinct  before  it  had  been  thrown  into  the  water.  On  this 
point  the  evidence  was,  as  might  be  anticipated,  contra- 
dictory, but  had  it  been  otherwise,  it  would  have  been  of  no 
value ;  for  the  question,  whether  Sarah  Stout's  body  floated  or 
sank  was  not  proved  either  one  way  or  the  other.  It  was 
found  entangled  among  some  stakes  in  the  mill-dam,  in  a 
manner  which  rendered  it  impossible  to  say  whether  it  was 
supported  or  kept  down.  ^     Tliere  was  therefore  no  basis  on 

^  See  the  evidence  of  Berry,  Yeuabli>s,  Dell,  Ulfe,  Dew,  Edmunds,  Page, 
How,  and  Meager,  13  State  Trials,  1116  to  1122.  All  these  witnesses,  who 
were  present  when  the  bodj'  was  found  in  the  mill-dam,  agree  in  asserthig 
that  the  body  "floated,"  and  they  no  doubt  believed  what  they  said,  their 
evidence  affording  an  example  of  how  far  a  preconceived  idea  will  affect  belief ; 
they  describe  the  body  as  lying  on  the  right  side,  the  head  and  right  arm  being 
driven  between  the  stakes,  which  were  something  less  than  a  foot  apart,  by  the 
stream.  Robert  Dew  and  Young,  who  were  called  on  behalf  of  the  prisoner, 
and  who  were  also  present  when  the  body  was  taken  out  of  the  water,  assert 
equally  positively  that  the  body  sa?;/;— see  p.  1151.  These  two  witnesses  de- 
scribe the  mode  in  which  the  bodj'  was  entangled  in  the  stakes  with  more  par- 
ticularity than  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecution.  The  judge,  in  his  charge  to 
the  jury,  treated  this  evidence  like  a  man  of  sense.  "I  shall  not  undertake," 
he  said,  "to  give  you  the  particulars  of  their  evidence  ;  but  they  tell  you  she 
lay  on  her  right  side,  the  one  arm  up  even  with  tlie  surface  of  the  water,  and 
her  body  under  the  water  ;  but  some  of  her  clothes  were  above  the  water ;  par- 


SPENCER    COWPER's    CASE.  395 

which  to  found  the  scientific  evidence,  and  the  case  against 
Cowper  rested  upon  a  very  few  facts,  and  may  be  summed  up 
in  very  few  words.  He  was  the  last  person  in  Sarah  Stout's 
company.  His  conduct  on  leaving  the  house  was  mysterious 
and  unexplained.  When  he  left,  instead  of  going  direct  to  his 
lodgings,  he  went  to  the  Glove  and  Dolphin  Inn  to  pay  a  small 
bill  for  horse-keep.  This  had  somewhat  the  appearance  of  a 
desire  to  secure  evidence  of  an  alibi.  He  was,  on  his  own 
showing,  embarrassed  by  Sarah  Stout's  pertinacious  attach- 
ment, and  had  a  stronger  motive  to  get  rid  of  her  than  has 
sometimes  been  found  sufficient  to  prompt  men  to  the  most  re- 
volting crimes.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be  remembered  that 
Cowper  was  not,  like  Tawell,  a  man  who  prided  himself  on  his 
reputation  for  the  respectabilities  of  life,  but,  as  well  as  his 
more  celebrated  brother — a  man  of  known  libertinism,  not 
likely  to  commit  a  crime  of  the  deepest  dye  for  the  purpose 
of  concealing  a  disreputable  intrigue.  To  have  convicted 
Cowper  of  murder  upon  this  evidence  would  have  been,  of 
course,  impossible.  But  the  case  must  ever  remain  shrouded 
in  the  darkest  mystery.  If  not  guilty  of  what  the  law  defines 
as  murder,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  Cowper's  conduct  was 
the  immediate  cause  of  the  death  of  the  unhappy  girl.  "When 
the  servant  left  the  room  they  were  on  the  most  amicable 
terms.  This  is  fixed  by  the  evidence,  as  nearly  as  possible, 
at  half-past  ten  by  the  town-clock.  As  the  clock  struck 
eleven,  Cowper  entered  the  Glove  and  Dolphin  Inn.^  In  that 
short  half-hour  he  had  either  incurred  the  guilt  of  murder,  or 
by  his  imkindness  had  driven  a  woman,  who  loved  him  with 
the  most  devoted  affection,  to  rush  uncalled  into  tlie  pre- 
sence of  her  IVIaker.  Cowper,  if  not  a  murderer,  which  we 
think  he  was  not,  must,  at  any  rate,  have  been  a  man  of  a 
singularly  cold  and  unfeeling  disposition.  According  to  his 
own  version  of  the  story,  the  girl,  whom  he  had  left  only  a  few 

ticularly,  one  says,  the  niflflos  of  her  loft  arm  were  above  the  water.  You  have 
heard,  also,  what  the  doctors  and  snrf,'eons  said,  on  tlie  one  side  and  tlio  other, 
concerning  the  swimming  and  sinking  of  dead  bodies  in  the  water;  but  I  am 
fiiul  no  ceiUiinty  in  it;  and  1  leave  it  to  your  consideration."— 13  Stite  Trials, 
118S. 

^  Evidence  of  P^lizabeth  Siuirr,  13  .State  Tri.ils,  1177. 


;39G  JUDICIAL   PUZZLES. 

moments  before,  immediately  upon  his  quitting  her,  sought  a 
rcfiig(^  iVoiu  her  love,  Iier  sorrows,  and  her  shame,  under  the 
cold  waters  of  the  l*riory  river.  On  the  next  morning  he  heard 
of  her  fate,  and  the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  send  the  ostler 
from  the  inn  to  her  mother's  house  for  his  horse,  fearing  lest, 
if  the  coroner's  jury  should  bring  in  a  verdict  of  felo  de  sc,  the 
animal  might,  being  found  in  her  stable,  be  claimed  as  for- 
feited to  the  lord  of  the  manor.  From  first  to  last  there  is 
not  one  word  of  tenderness  or  regret.  He  never  went  near 
the  bereaved  mother,  but  he  attended  the  coroner's  inquest, 
gave  his  evidence  with  the  utmost  coolness,  and  the  next 
day  proceeded  on  circuit  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  taken 
place.  Three  other  persons  were  indicted  along  witli  Cowper 
as  the  accomplices  of  his  crime,  but  against  them  there  was 
not  even  the  shadow  of  a  case.  The  jury,  after  deliberating 
for  about  half  an  hour,  acquitted  all  the  prisoners. 

The  relatives  of  Sarah  Stout  attempted  to  bring  Cowper  to  a 
second  trial  by  means  of  a  proceeding  now  abolished,  entitled 
"  The  Appeal  of  Murder."  The  attempt  failed  through  the 
influence  of  the  Cowpers,  who  tampered  with  the  sheriff,  and 
procured  the  destruction  of  the  writs.  The  sheriff  was  fined 
and  imprisoned  for  his  misconduct,  Holt,  the  Chief  Justice, 
severely  animadverting  on  the  foul  play  which  had  been  em- 
ployed to  impede  the  course  of  justice.^  Cowper  continued  to 
practise  at  the  bar,  and  was  at  last  raised  to  the  bench  of  the 
Court  of  Common  Pleas,  a  remarkable  instance  of  a  man  who 
had  held  up  his  hand  on  an  arraignment  for  murder  trying  others 
for  the  same  offence.  He  is  said  to  have  learned  a  lesson  of 
caution  and  mercy  from  his  own  experience,  and  to  have  been 
remarkable  for  both  those  qualities. 

One  might  have  supposed  that  poor  Sarah  Stout  woidd  have 
been  allowed  to  sleep  in  peace  without  having  her  name  revived, 
and  her  sad  story  made  famous  more  than  a  century  and  a  half 
after  her  death.  But  such  was  not  to  be  her  fate.  The  oppor- 
tunity of  a  double  fling  at  Quakers  and  Tories  has  been  too 
great  a  temptation  for  Lord  IMacaulay.  It  was  a  right-and-left 
shot  at  the  game  he  loved  best.     Accordingly,  in  the  fifth  and 

'  Lord  Eaymond,  i.  575,  R.  v.  Toler— 13  State  Trials,  1199. 


SPENCER   COWPEr's   CASE.  397 

concluding  volume  of  his  History,  in  that  part  which  we  are 
told  by  the  editor  he  had  left  "  fairly  transcribed  and  revised," 
we  find  four  pages  devoted  to  the  case  of  that  unhappy  girl. 
The  whole  passage  is  so  eloquent,  so  picturesque,  so  ingenious 
in  insinuation,  so  daring  in  the  misrepresentation  of  facts,  and 
the  distortion  of  evidence,  and  affords  so  good  an  epitome  of 
the  best  and  the  worst  qualities  of  the  author,  that  we  give  it 
entire. 

"  One  mournful  tale,  which  called  forth  the  strongest  feelings  of  the 
contending  factions,  is  still  remembered  as  a  ciuious  part  of  the  history 
of  oiu  jurLsprudence,  and  especially  of  the  history  of  our  medical  juris- 
prudence. No  Whig  member  of  the  Lower  House,  with  the  single  excep- 
tion of  Montague,  filled  a  larger  space  in  the  public  eye  than  William 
Cowper.  In  the  art  of  conciliating  an  audience,  Cowper  was  pre-eminent. 
His  graceful  and  engaging  eloquence  cast  a  spell  on  juries  ;  and  the 
Commons,  even  in  those  stormy  moments  when  no  other  defender  of  the 
administration  could  obtain  a  hearing,  would  always  listen  to  him.  He 
represented  Hertford,  a  borough  in  which  his  family  had  considerable 
influence  ;  but  there  was  a  strong  Tory  minority  among  the  electoi-s  ;  and 
he  had  not  won  liis  seat  without  a  hard  fight,  wliich  hud  left  behind  it 
many  bitter  recollections.  His  younger  Ijrother,  Spencer,  a  man  of  parts 
and  learning,  was  fust  lising  into  practice  as  a  barrister  on  the  home 
circuit. 

"At  Hertford  resided  an  opulent  Quaker  family  named  Stout.  A 
pretty  yovmg  woman  of  this  family  had  lately  sunk  into  a  melancholy,  of 
a  kind  not  very  unusual  in  girls  of  strong  sensibility  and  lively  imagina- 
tion, who  are  subject  to  the  restraints  of  austere  religious  societies.  Her 
dress,  her  looks,  her  gestures,  indicated  the  disturbance  of  her  mind.  She 
sometimes  hinted  her  dislike  of  the  sect  to  which  she  belonged.  Slie 
comidained  that  a  canting  waterman,  who  was  one  of  the  brotherhood, 
had  held  forth  against  her  at  a  meeting.  She  threatened  to  go  beyond 
sea,  to  throw  herself  out  of  the  window,  to  drown  herself.  To  two  or 
three  of  her  associates  she  owned  that  she  wivs  in  love  ;  and  on  one 
occasion  she  plainly  said  that  the  man  whom  she  loved  was  one  whom 
she  never  could  marry.  In  fact,  the  object  of  her  fondness  was  Spencer 
Cowper,  who  was  already  married.  She  at  length  wrote  to  him  in  lan- 
guage which  she  never  would  have  used  if  her  intellect  had  not  been 
disordered.  He,  like  an  honest  man,  took  no  advantage  of  her  unhajipy 
stiite  of  mind,  and  did  his  best  to  avoid  her.  His  prudence  mortified  lier 
to  such  a  degree  that  on  one  occasion  she  went  into  fits.  It  was  nece.ssjiry, 
however,  that  he  should  see  her  when  he  came  to  Hertford  at  the  spring 
assizes  of  1G99,  for  he  had  been  intrusted  with  some  money  whicli  was  due 
to  her  on  mortgage.  He  called  on  her  for  this  purpose  late  one  evening, 
and  delivered  a  bag  of  gold  to  her.     She  pressed  him  to  be  the  guest  of 


308  jiTDiriAL  przzLKS. 

Jkt  rainily,  Juit  lie  excused  himflelt  imd  retinal.  The  nc^xt  morning  she 
wiiH  iouiid  fk'ixd  anion^,'  the  Htakcs  of  a  niill-ilain  on  the;  Htrtjani  called  the 
I'riory  river.  That  hIic  had  destroyed  herself  there  coidd  Ix;  no  reason- 
able doubt.  The  coroner's  inc|uest  found  that  slic  liad  drowned  hcrf?<df 
while  in  n  state  of  nnental  <leranf,'ement.  But  the  family  was  unwillin{» 
to  admit  that  she  had  shortened  her  own  life,  and  lookeil  about  for  some- 
body who  mip^lit  be  accused  of  munlering  her.  The  last  person  who 
could  be  proved  to  have  been  in  her  company  wa.s  Spencer  Cowper.  It 
chanced  that  two  attorneys  and  a  scrivener,  who  had  come  down  from 
town  to  the  Hertford  assizes,  had  Ijeen  overheard,  on  that  unhappy  night, 
talking  over  their  wine  a])out  the  charms  and  flirtations  of  the  handsome 
(Quaker  girl,  in  the  light  way  in  which  such  subjects  are  sometimes  dis- 
cussed even  at  the  circuit  tables  and  mess  tables  of  our  more  refined 
generation.  Some  wld  words,  susceptible  of  a  double  meaning,  were  used 
about  the  way  in  which  she  had  jilted  one  lover,  and  the  way  in  which 
another  lover  woulil  punish  her  for  her  coquetry.  On  no  better  grounds 
than  these,  her  relations  imagined  that  Spencer  Cowper  had,  with  the 
assistance  of  these  three  retainers  of  the  law,  strangled  her,  and  thrown 
her  corpse  into  the  water.  There  was  absolutely  no  evidence  of  the 
crime.  There  was  no  evidence  that  any  one  of  the  accused  had  any 
motive  to  commit  such  a  crime  ;  there  was  no  evidence  that  Spencer 
Cowper  had  any  connection  \vith  the  persons  who  were  said  to  be  his 
accomplices.  One  of  those  persons,  indeed,  he  had  never  seen.  But  no 
story  is  too  absurd  to  be  imposed  on  minds  blinded  by  religions  and 
political  fanaticism. 

"  The  Quakers  and  the  Tories  joined  to  raise  a  formidable  clamour. 
The  Quakers  had,  in  those  days,  no  scruples  about  capital  piinishments. 
They  would,  indeed,  as  Spencer  Cowper  said  bitterly,  but  too  truly, 
rather  send  four  innocent  men  to  the  gallows  than  let  it  be  believed  that 
one  who  had  their  light  within  her  had  committed  suicide.  The  Tories 
exulted  in  the  prospect  of  winning  two  seats  from  the  WTiigs.  The  whole 
kingdom  was  divided  between  Stouts  and  Cowpers.  At  the  summer 
assizes  Hertford  was  crowded  with  anxious  faces  from  London,  and  from 
parts  of  England  more  distant  thfm  London.  The  prosecution  was  con- 
ducted wnth  a  malignity  and  unfairness  which  to  us  seem  almost  incre- 
dible ;  and,  unfortunately,  the  dullest  and  most  ignorant  judge  of  the 
twelve  was  on  the  bench.  Cowper  defended  hijnself  and  those  who  were 
said  to  be  his  accomplices  with  admirable  ability  and  self-possession. 
His  brother,  much  more  distressed  than  himself,  sate  near  him  through 
the  long  agony  of  that  day.  The  case  against  the  prisoners  rested  chiefly 
on  the  vulgar  error  that  a  humiin  body  found,  as  this  girl's  body  had  been 
found,  floating  in  water,  must  have  been  thrown  into  the  water  while 
still  alive.  To  prove  this  doctrine,  the  counsel  for  the  Crown  called 
medical  practitioners,  of  whom  notliing  is  now  known  except  that  some 
of  them  had  lieen  active  against  the  "NMiigs  at  Hertford  elections.  To 
confirm  the  evidence  of  these  gentlemen,  two  or  three  sailors  were  put 
into  the  witness-box.     On  the  other  side  appeared  an  array  of  men  of 


SPENCER   COWPER's    CASE.  399 

science  whose  names  are  still  remembered.  Among  them  was  William 
Cowper, — not  a  kinsman  of  the  defendant,  but  the  most  celebrated  ana- 
tomist that  England  had  then  produced.  He  was,  indeed,  the  founder  of 
a  dynasty  illustrious  in  the  history  of  science  ;  for  he  was  the  teacher  of 
William  Cheselden,  and  William  Cheselden  was  the  teacher  of  John 
Himter.  On  the  same  side  appeared  Samuel  Garth,  who,  among  the 
physicians  of  the  capital,  had  no  rival  except  Radcliffe,  and  Hans  Sloanc, 
the  founder  of  the  magnificent  museimi  which  is  one  of  the  glories  of  our 
country.  The  attempt  of  the  i^rosecutors  to  make  the  superstitions  of 
the  forecastle  evidence  for  the  purpose  of  taking  away  the  lives  of  men, 
was  treated  by  these  philosophers  with  just  disdain.  The  stupid  judge 
asked  Garth  what  he  could  say  in  answer  to  the  testimony  of  the  seamen. 
'  My  lord,'  replied  Garth,  *  I  say  that  they  are  mistaken.  I  will  find  sea- 
men in  abundance  to  swear  that  they  have  known  whistling  raise  the 
wind.'  The  jury  found  the  prisoners  Not  Guilty,  and  the  report  carried 
back  to  London  by  persons  who  had  been  present  at  the  trial  was,  that 
everybody  applauded  the  verdict,  and  that  even  the  Stouts  seemed  to  be 
convinced  of  their  error.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  the  malevolence  of 
the  defeated  party  soon  revived  in  all  its  energy.  The  lives  of  the  four 
men  who  had  just  been  absolved  were  again  attacked  by  means  of  the 
most  absurd  and  odious  proceeding  known  to  our  old  law,  the  appeal  of 
murder.  This  attack  too  failed.  Every  artifice  of  chicane  was  at  length 
exhausted  ;  and  nothing  was  left  to  the  disappointed  sect  and  the  disai>- 
poiiited  faction  except  to  calumniate  those  whom  it  had  been  found  inii)os- 
sible  to  murder.  In  a  succession  of  libels,  Spencer  Cowper  was  held  up  to 
the  execration  of  the  public.  But  the  public  did  him  justice.  lie  rose  to 
high  eminence  in  his  profession  ;  he  at  length  took  his  seat,  with  general 
applause,  on  the  judicial  bench,  and  there  distinguished  himself  by  the 
humanity  which  he  never  failed  to  show  to  unhappy  men  who  stood,  as 
he  had  stood,  at  the  bar.  Many  who  seldom  trouble  themselves  about 
pedigrees  may  be  interested  by  learning  that  he  was  the  grandfather  of 
that  excellent  man  and  excellent  poet,  William  Cowper,  whose  writings 
have  long  been  peculiarly  loved  and  prized  by  the  membei"sof  the  religious 
community  which,  under  a  strong  delusion,  sought  to  slay  his  innocent 
progenitor.^ 

"  Though  Spencer  Cowper  had  escaped  with  life  and  honour,  tlie  Tories 
had  carried  their  point.  They  had  secured  against  the  next  election  the 
support  of  the  Quakers  of  Hertford  ;  and  the  consequence  was,  that  the 
borough  was  lost  to  the  family  and  to  the  party  which  had  lately  predo- 
minated there." 

'  "  It  is  curious  that  all  Cowper'a  biographers  Mith  whom  I  .1111  aoqiiaintcd 
— Ilayley,  Southey,  (Jrimshawc,  Chalmers — mention  the  judgi',  tho  common 
ancestor  of  the  poet,  of  his  tirst  love,  Thoodora  Cowper,  and  of  Lady  Ilcs- 
keth,  but  that  none  of  these  Ijiographcrs  makes  tho  faintest  allusion  to  the 
Ifertford  trial,  the  most  remarkahle  event  in  the  history  of  the  family;  nor 
do  I  believe  that  any  allusion  to  that  trial  can  Ik*  found  in  any  of  tho  poet's 
numerous  letters." 


400  JUDICIAL   rizzi.F.s. 

NotwithstaiKlin^'  tlif  luct  lluit  I^ord  Macaulay  has  given  so 
liirg(3  a  space  to  this  case,  he  has  read  it  with  more  tlian  ordinary 
carelessness,  lie  says, — "  Tlie  case  against  the  prisoner  rested 
chielly  on  the  vulgar  eiTor  tliat  a  human  body  found,  as  this  poor 
girl's  body  had  been  found,  floating  in  the  water,  must  have  been 
thrown  into  the  water  while  still  alive."  ^  The  argument  was 
exactly  the  reverse.  It  was  urged  that  the  fact  of  her  body 
floating  proved  that  she  was  thrown  into  the  water  after  she 
ivas  dead  ;  and  it  was  sought  to  be  inferred  that  she  had  been 
strangled — that  if,  as  was  argued  on  behalf  of  the  prisoner,  she 
had  drowned  herself,  her  body  would  have  been  filled  with 
water,  and  would  have  sunk.  The  evidence  as  to  whether  the 
body  did  in  fact  float  or  sink,  was,  as  we  have  seen,  contradic- 
tory. The  post-mortem  examination  was  delayed  so  long  that 
the  medical  testimony  had  really  no  foundation  of  facts  to  rest 
upon.  At  the  trial  an  attempt  was  made,  on  the  part  of  the 
prisoner,  to  establish  the  insanity  of  the  girl ;  but  nothing 
more  was  proved  than  might  be  easily  shown  to  have  occurred 
in  the  case  of  any  love-sick  girl  who  was,  or  fancied  herself, 
the  victim  of  an  unrequited  passion.  Lord  Macaulay 's  treat- 
ment of  this  evidence  is  amusing.  Three  of  the  circumstances 
on  which  he  relies  to  prove  her  insanity  are — 1st,  That  "  she 
sometimes  hinted  a  dislike  of  the  sect  to  which  she  belonged," 
which  is  rather  an  odd  proof  of  insanity  in  the  mouth  of  Lord 
Macaulay) ;  2d,  That  "  she  complained  that  a  canting  waterman, 
who  was  one  of  the  brethren,  had  held  forth  against  her  at  a 
meeting"  (which  happened  to  be  true,  and  seems  to  be  a  toler- 
ably reasonable  ground  of  annoyance);  and,  3d,  That  "to  two  or 
three  of  her  associates  she  owned  she  was  in  love,"  (Alas  for 
all  young  ladies  from  sixteen  upwards,  in  white  satin,  and  their 
confidantes  in  white  linen,  if  this  is  to  be  taken  as  a  proof  of 
insanity  !)  But  w^hen  Lord  IMacaulay  comes  to  the  facts  con- 
nected with  Cowper's  writing  to  announce  his  intention  of  stay- 
ing at  the  house,  his  dining  there,  his  return  in  the  evening, 
and  his  mysterious  disappearance  at  night  simultaneously  with 
the  girl,  he  condenses  them  into  the  following  words :  "  He, 
like  an  honest  mem,  took  no  advantage  of  her  unhappy  state  of 

1  Vol.  V.  238. 


SPENCER   COWPER's   CASE.  401 

mind,  and  did  his  best  to  avoid  her  "  (it  was,  to  say  the  least, 
an  odd  mode  of  avoiding  her  that  he  adopted),  "  It  was  ne- 
cessary, however,  that  he  sliould  see  her  when  he  came  to  Hert- 
ford at  the  spring  assizes  of  1699,  for  he  had  been  intrusted 
with  some  money  which  was  due  to  her  on  mortgage.  He 
called  on  her, /or  this  purpose^  late  one  evening,  and  delivered 
a  bag  of  gold  to  lier."  (The  "  bag  "  exists  only  in  Lord  Macau- 
lay's  imagination — the  "  gold"  was  the  petty  sum  of  six  pounds 
and  a  few  odd  shillings,  which  Cowper  had  received  for  her  as 
interest  on  a  sum  of  £200  which  he  had  placed  out  on  mort- 
gage on  her  behalf,  and  the  payment  of  which  certainly  did  not 
make  it  necessary  that  he  should  be  with  her  from  two  till  four, 
and  again  from  nine  till  half-past  ten  at  night.)  "  She  pressed 
him,"  adds  Lord  Macaulay,  "  to  be  the  guest  of  the  famOy,  but 
he  excused  himself  and  retired." 

It  is  worth  while,  as  a  matter  of  philological  curiosity,  to 
enumerate  over  again  the  facts  which  one  of  the  greatest 
masters  of  the  English  language  can  compress  into  the 
phrase — "he  excused  himself  and  retired."  Cowper  went  to 
the  house  on  his  arrival  in  the  town,  dined  there  with  the 
family,  left  at  four,  returned  at  nine,  supped,  wrote  his  letters, 
was  present  whilst  his  bed  and  his  bedroom  fire  were  ordered 
and  the  maid  was  sent  up  to  warm  his  bed ;  sat  alone  until 
half-past  ten  o'clock  at  night  with  a  girl  who  he  knew  was 
violently  in  love  with  him,  who  had  been  in  the  habit  of 
addressing  the  most  passionate  letters  to  him  under  a  feigned 
name,  and  then — "  abiit — excessit — evasit — erupit."  His  de- 
parture only  announced  by  the  slamming-to  of  the  street-door. 
This  is  Lord  Macaulay 's  notion  of  "excusing  himself  and 
retiring."  He  and  the  girl  disappeared  together.  In  the 
morning  he  is  at  other  lodgings  in  the  town,  and  she  a  corpse 
in  the  mill-dam. 

For  the  charge  that  Lord  Macaulay  makes  that  "  the  pro- 
secution was  conducted  with  a  malignity  ami  unfairness  which 
to  us  seem  almost  incredible,"  we  cannot  discover  the  slightest 
ground.  Certainly  none  is  to  be  found  in  the  very  ample  and 
detailed  report  in  the  '  State  Trials.'  Indeed,  a  far  greater 
latitude  was  allowed  to  the  prisoner  in  his  defence  than  would 

2  C 


402  JUDICIAL    IMZZr.ES. 

be  permitted  at  tlic  present  day.  What  authority  Lord 
Macauhiy  may  have  had  for  describing  Ilatscll,  who  presided 
at  the  trial,  as  "  the  dullest  and  most  ignorant  judge  of  the 
twelve,"  we  know  not.  lie  seems  to  have  tried  the  case  with 
strict  impartiality  and  very  fair  ability,  and  his  charge  to  the 
jury  was  decidedly  in  favour  of  the  prisoners. 

We  have  frequently  had  occasion  to  remark  upon  the 
caution  which  ought  to  be  observed  before  relying  upon  Lord 
Macaulay's  marks  of  quotation.  An  amusing  instance  of 
this  occurs  in  the  passage  we  have  just  cited.  A  sailor  of 
the  name  of  Clement  deponed  that  he  had  frequently  observed 
that  when  a  corpse  was  thrown  into  the  sea  it  floated  ;  whereas, 
if  a  man  fell  into  the  water  and  was  drowned,  his  body 
sank  as  soon  as  life  was  extinct.  In  confirmation  of  this,  he 
cited  his  own  experience  at  the  fight  off  Beachy  Head,  where 
the  bodies  of  the  men  who  were  killed  floated  about ;  and  at 
a  shipwreck,  where  between  five  and  six  hundred  men  were 
drowned,  whose  bodies  sank.  This  evidence  was  curious, 
and  if  it  had  been  proved  whether  Sarah  Stout's  body  floated 
or  sank,  would  have  been  valuable.  The  judge  felt,  no  doubt, 
that  it  was  so  ;  and  when  Garth  swore  that  "  it  was  impossible 
the  body  should  have  floated,"  and  boldly  stated  his  belief 
that  "  all  dead  bodies  fall  to  the  bottom  unless  they  be  pre- 
vented by  some  extraordinary  tumour,"^  he  directed  his  atten- 
tion to  the  evidence  \vhich  had  been  given,  and  asked  him 
"what  he  said  as  to  the  sinking  of  dead  bodies  in  water?" 
Garth  replied  that,  "  if  a  strangled  body  be  thrown  into  the 
water,  the  lungs  being  filled  with  air,  and  a  cord  left  about 
the  neck,  it  was  possible  it  might  float,  because  of  the  included 
air,  as  a  bladder  would."  Upon  this  the  judge  recalled  his 
attention  to  the  question  as  follows  : — 

"  Baron  Hatsell. — But  you  do  not  observe  my  question :  the 
seaman  said  that  those  that  die  at  sea  and  are  thrown  over- 
board, if  you  do  not  tie  a  weight  to  them,  they  will  not  sink — 
what  do  you  say  to  that  ? 

"  Dr  Garth — My  lord,  no  doubt  in  this  thing  they  are 
mistaken.     The  seamen  are  a  superstitious  people  :  they  fancy 

1  13  state  Trials,  1157. 


SPENCER    COWPERS    CASE.  403 

that  whistling  at  sea  will  occasion  a  tempest.  /  must  confess 
I  have  never  seen  anybody  thrown  overboard ;  but  I  have  tried 
some  experiments  on  other  dead  animals,  and  they  will  cer- 
tainly sink:  we  have  tried  them  since  we  came  hither."^ 

Now  in  this,  we  confess,  it  seems  to  us  that  the  judge 
appears  to  greater  advantage  than  the  physician.  Garth  was 
evidently  desirous  to  evade  the  question,  and  he  attempted  to 
do  so  by  a  sneer.  The  superstition  of  the  sailors  had  nothing 
to  do  with  the  question  whether  a  man  killed  in  battle  and 
falling  into  the  water  floats  or  sinks.  Garth  was  compelled  to 
admit  he  had  no  experience  on  the  subject.  He  said,  and  said 
truly,  that  "  the  object  of  tying  weights  to  a  body  is  to  prevent 
it  from  floating  at  all,  which  otherwise  would  happen  in  some 
few  days."^  The  well-known  instance  of  the  floating  of  the 
body  of  Caracciolo,  notwithstanding  the  weights  which  were 
attached  to  his  feet,  will  occur  at  once  to  the  mind  of  the 
reader.  The  inquiry  of  the  judge  was  pertinent  to  the  evidence, 
and  the  reply  might  have  been  material  to  the  question  of  the 
guilt  or  innocence  of  the  prisoner.  Lord  IMacaulay  disposes 
of  both  question  and  answer  in  the  following  words  :^"  The 
stupid  judge  asked  Garth  what  he  could  say  in  answer  to  the 
testimony  of  the  seamen.  '  My  lord,'  replied  Garth,  '  I  say 
that  they  are  mistaken.  I  will  find  seamen  in  abundance 
to  swear  that  they  have  known  whistling  raise  the  wind." 
There  was  no  stupidity  that  we  can  discover  in  the  question, 
and  the  answer  is  misquoted. 

Lord  Macaulay,  however,  does  not  trouble  himself  with  the 
facts  of  the  case.  He  finds  for  once  the  Quakers  and  the 
Tories  united  (or  rather,  we  ought  to  say,  he  assumes  their 
union ;  for  from  first  to  last  in  tlie  trial  there  is  not  a  particle 
of  evidence  that  political  feeling  intervened),  and  he  infers 
that  they  could  only  be  united  for  the  purpose  of  committing 
a  judicial  murder ;  that  the  object  of  the  Quakers  was  to  "  send 
four  innocent  men  to  the  gallows  rather  than  let  it  be  believed 
that  one  who  had  their  light  within  her  had  conmiittcd 
suicide,"^  and  that  the  Tories  were  urged  on  to  the  same 
atrocity  by  "the  prospect  of  winning  two  seats  from  the 
1  Sfcitc  Trials,  1158.  «  Il.i.l.,  1158.  =•  Vol.  v.  237. 


404  JUDICIAL   PUZZLES. 

Whigs."  Lord  Macaulay  makes  no  account  of  the  feelings 
that  would  be  wakened  amongst  relations,  friends,  and  neigh- 
bours by  the  sudden  and  violent  death  of  a  young  and  beauti- 
ful girl,  who,  whether  murdered  or  not,  had  unquestionably 
been  cruelly  trifled  with  by  a  man  who,  if  not  directly,  was  at 
any  rate  indirectly  the  cause  of  her  death.  "  Keligious  and 
political  fanaticism"  are  motives  the  j)Ower  of  which  Lord 
Macaulay  was  certainly  not  likely  to  underrate.  Yet  it  might 
have  been  supposed  that  the  religion  of  Sarah  Stout  was  one 
which  he  would  have  been  disposed  to  treat,  if  not  with 
respect,  at  least  with  tenderness,  however  mistaken  his  more 
mature  convictions  miglit  lead  him  to  consider  it  to  be. 

We  have  ourselves  little  sympathy  with  the  peculiar  tenets 
and  habits  of  the  Quakers.     It  is  difficult  for  any  one  to  write 
with  perfect  justice  about  that  very  singular  sect.     A  body  of 
Christians  who  make  it  part  of  their  religion  to  observe  the 
strictest  rules  of  grammar  in  the  use   of  the  singular  and 
plural  of  the  personal  pronouns,  whilst  thoy  habitually  violate 
them  as  to  the  nominative  and  the  accusative ;  whose  con- 
sciences are  tender  as  to  buttons  ;  who  hold  gay  colours  to  be 
"unfriendly,"  whilst  they  delight  in   the   richest  and  most 
costly  fabrics  ;  who  shrink  from  the  hypocrisy  of  addressing  a 
stranger  as  "  Dear  Sir,"  whilst  they  have  no  scruple  in  calling 
the  man  they  most  despise  "  Respected  Friend,"  merely  commit 
amusing  eccentricities.     The  evil  is  much  more  serious  when 
they  proscribe  all  those  arts  which  tend  most  to  brighten  our 
course  through  life.     Literature,  except  of  the  most  dreary 
kind,  is  prohibited  to  strict  Friends.     We  once  made  a  passing 
allusion  to  Mr  Jonathan  Oldbuck,  in  conversation  with  one  of 
the  most  eminent  Quakers  of  the  day,  a  member  of  a  learned 
profession,  and  discovered,  to  our  astonishment,  that  he  was  in 
total  ignorance  of  the  '  Waverley  Novels.'     Another  venerable 
and  strict  Friend,  seeing  a  volume  lettered  'Horatii  Opera' 
on  the  table  of  one  of  his  laxer  brethren,  shook  his  head 
gravely,  and  said,  "Thou  knowest,  friend,  that  we  have  a  tes- 
timony against  all  operas."     Nothing  can  be  conceived  more 
desolate  than  a  pure  Quaker  library  :  Barclay's  '  Apology '  and 
Baxter's   '  Saint's   Best,'  Penn's    '  No   Cross,   no   Crown,'  and 


SPENCER    COWPEPt'S    CASE.  405 

George  Fox's  '  Journal ' — perhaps,  by  extraordinary  good  for- 
tune, '  Paradise  Lost '  and  '  The  Task ' — all  excellent  in  their 
way,  but  not  exactly  the  books  to  wile  away  a  tedious  hour ; 
and  one  looks  in  vain  for  Sliakespeare  and  Scott,  for  Pope  or 
Fielding.  Painting  and  music  share  the  same  fate.  Now  and 
then,  however,  happily,  the  old  Adam  is  too  strong,  and  such 
arts  are  cultivated  either  "  clandecently,"  as  Mawworm  says, 
or  in  open  defiance  of  the  yearly  meeting.  Gastronomy  is  the 
only  one  of  the  liberal  arts  that  flourishes  unrestrained.  The 
Quakers  are  a  hospitable  j)eople  ;  their  dinners  are  excellent, 
and  their  wines  super-excellent.  The  whitest  linen,  the  most 
brilliant  silver,  and  the  most  sparkling  glass,  are  to  be  found 
at  their  tables.  They  indulge,  not  to  excess,  but  silently  and 
thankfully,  in  these  good  things,  and  a  certain  serious  rotundity 
has  in  consequence  become  hereditary  amongst  tliem.  The 
late  Lord  Macaulay  himself  inherited  something  of  this  forma- 
tion, modified,  however,  by  the  admixture  which  his  blood 
had  received  from  the  lean  and  liungiy  Celts  to  whom  he 
owed  his  Highland  name.  This  formation  is  no  doubt  un- 
favourable to  great  personal  activity ;  but  personal  activity  is 
of  little  import  to  a  Quaker.  Field-sports,  and  their  attendant 
festivities  of  all  kinds,  are  prohibited.  A  Quaker  thinks  of  a 
hunt-ball  as  if  it  were  a  war-dance  of  wild  Indians.  But  here 
again  nature  will  sometimes  assert  her  rights.  We  have 
known  a  Quaker  to  be  an  excellent  judge  of  a  horse,  and  some 
of  the  best  heavy-weights  across  the  Pytchly  and  Wanvick- 
shire  countries  have  been  of  pure  Quaker  blood.  We  once 
lieard  of  a  Quaker  horse-dealer.  But  of  all  strange  sights  a 
Quaker  child  is  the  strangest.  To  find  a  little  curly-licaded 
darling  of  four  or  five  years  old,  who,  instead  of  climbing  on 
one's  knee,  and  insisting  vociferously  on  a  game  at  romps  or 
a  fairy  story  before  it  will  go  to  bed,  walks  off  demurely  with 
a  "  Fare  thee  well,  friend,"  is  enough  to  make  one's  hair  stand 
on  end. 

Early  as  this  discipline  begins,  it  is  pleasant  to  find  that 
nature  is  sometimes  too  strong  for  it.  We  have  lately  met 
with  a  narrative  (published  within  the  last  six  months)  of  a 
Quaker  journey  in  America,  writ  by  one  William  Tallack,  a 


400  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

Friend,  who,  if  we  are  to  judge  of  him  by  his  book,  must  be 
dry  liiiou^di  to  satisfy  the  most  nervous  dread  of  any  approach 
to  tliat  humidity  which  constitutes  a  "  wet  Quaker  " — a  being 
peculiarly  abhorrent  to  consistent  Friends.  After  devoting 
many  pages  to  bonnets  with  round  crowns,  and  bonnets  with 
square  crowns,  buttons  and  straps,  knee  shorts,  and  "  slit  col- 
lars," and  those  still  more  execrable  abominations,  "  turned- 
down  collars  with  slits  in  them  "  (though,  we  confess,  without 
making  it  by  any  means  clear  to  one  of  the  profane  what  con- 
stitutes a  slit  collar) ;  after  recording  how  one  Elias  Hicks 
"  felt  that  his  conscience  required  the  relinquishment  of  un- 
necessary buttons  to  his  coat,"  and  compelled  him  to  "  turn  up 
a  cushion  in  the  meeting,  and  to  seat  himself  on  the  hard 
board,"  ^  he  gives  some  extracts  from  the  records  of  the  Quakers' 
meeting,  amongst  which  it  is  really  refreshing  to  meet  the 
passions  and  the  foibles  of  poor  human  nature. 

Here  is  the  confession  of  a  warm-tempered  Friend,  who 
probably  would  have  been  all  the  better  for  the  cooling  disci- 
pline he  administered  to  liis  neighbour,  even  at  the  risk  of  the 
dreaded  consequence  of  becoming  "  wet." 

"  Whereas  I  contended  with  my  neighbour,  W.  S.,  for  what 
I  apprehended  to  be  my  right,  by  endeavouring  to  turn  a  cer- 
tain stream  of  water  into  its  natural  course,  till  it  arose  to  a 
personal  difference,  in  which  dispute  I  gave  w^ay  to  warmth  of 
temper  so  far  as  to  put  my  friend  W.  into  the  pond  ;  for  which 
action  of  mine,  being  contrary  to  the  good  order  of  Friends,  I 
am  sorry,  and  desire,  through  divine  assistance,  to  live  in  unity 
with  him  for  the  future."  - 

But  it  is  not  to  wrath  alone  that  Friends  sometimes  give 
way.  A  gentler  passion  occasionally  hurries  them  beyond 
the  bounds  of  what  is  strictly  "  friendly." 

"  Whereas  I  was  too  forward  and  hasty  in  making  suit  to  a 
young  woman  after  the  death  of  my  wife,  having  made  some 

^  It  is  to  hoped  that  Elias  Hicks  never  became  subject  to  the  inconvenient 
delusion  recorded  by  Melauder  of  an  unhappy  man,  "  qui  opinatus  est,  ex  \itro 
sibi  constatas  clunes,  sic  ut  omnia  sua  negotia  atque  actiones  stando  perficcret, 
metuens,  ne,  si  in  sedile  se  inclinaret,  nates  confringeret,  ac  vitri  fragmenta 
hinc  inde  dissilirent. " — Melan.,  Joco-Srria,  433. 

2  Friendly  Sketchesin  America,  by  William  Tallack. 


SPENCER    COWPER's    CASE.  407 

proceedings  that  way  in  less  than  four  months,  which  I  am 
now  sensible  was  wrong.     As  witness  my  hand,  R.  H."  ^ 

Even  that  peaceful  union  which  we  are  bound  to  suppose  a 
Quaker  marriage  to  be  (by  the  way,  what  a  very  odd  proceed- 
ing a  Quaker  courtship  must  be  ! — how  do  they  get  married  at 
all  ?)  is  sometimes  disturbed  by  the  sinful  passions  of  humanity. 
Thus  we  find  that  the  "  Concord  preparation-meeting  com- 
plains of  J.  P.  S.  for  breach  of  his  marriage  covenants  in 
refusing  to  live  with  his  wife,  as  a  faithful  husband  ought 
to  do." 

Nor  does  the  traveller  fail  to  observe  the  hospitality  which 
we  have  already  noticed  as  so  commendable  amongst  friends, 
but  which  is  sometimes  carried  to  an  inconvenient  excess. 

"  At  meals,"  he  says,  "  there  is  generally  several  times  the 
quantity  of  food  placed  upon  the  table  which  could  possibly  be 
eaten  by  the  heartiest  appetites  of  those  present,  and  plates  are 
piled  with  so  much  that  they  are  seldom  empty  at  the  end  of 
the  meal.  ...  It  is  usual  to  help  a  visitor  to  two  or 
three  slices  of  pie  at  a  time." 

Times  have  certainly  changed  amongst  the  Quakers  since 

"  Brother  Green  was  feasted 
With  a  spiritual  collation 
By  our  frugal  mayor, 
Who  can  <line  with  a  praj'er. 
And  sup  with  an  exhortation. " 

Still  it  must  be  admitted  by  all  candid  men  that  Quakerism 
has  its  estimable  as  well  as  its  ridiculous  side,  and  that  a  sect 
which  can  number  amongst  its  followers  such  men  as  William 
Penn,  Ell  wood  the  friend  of  Milton,  Barclay,  Clarkson,  Rey- 
nolds the  philanthropist,  and  Dalton  the  philosopher,  desen'es 
a  treatment  far  different  from  that  which  it  has  received  from 
Lord  Macaulay.  To  assert,  witliout  one  particle  of  evidence 
to  support  the  statement,  that  the  Quakers  deliberately  planned 
a  judicial  murder  to  conceal  the  fact  that  one  of  tlioir  body  had 
committed  suicide,  is  just  as  monstrous  as  to  inii)uti'  to  the 
Tories  that  they  were  accomplices  in  the  crime.  Tliis  unscru- 
pulous treatment  of  facts,  and  equally  unscrupulous  suggestion 

'  Friendly  Sketches  in  America,  195. 


408  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

of  motives,  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous  weapons  a  combatant 
can  wield.     No  instrument  of  attack  is  so  easily  turned  against 
the  party  making  use  of  it.     If  a  hi.storian  could  be  found 
equally  unscrupulous  as  Lord  Macaulay,  and  as  deeply  imbued 
with  opposite  prejudices,  nothing  would  be  easier  than  to  para- 
})hrase  his  account  of  Spencer  Cowper's  trial  almost  in  his  own 
words,  and  with  far  less  departure  from  the  facts.     The  narra- 
tive would  then  assume  something  of  the  following  form  :  "  At 
Hertford  resided  a  respectable  Quaker  family  named  Stout. 
One  daughter,  a  beautiful  girl  of  strong  sensibility  and  lively 
imagination,  formed  a  deep  attachment  to  Spencer  Cowper. 
lie  trifled  with  her  affections,  took  every  advantage  of  her  un- 
happy state  of  mind,  and  then  cast  her  off  and  married  another 
woman.     Her  almost  frantic  attachment  still  continued.     She 
wrote  letters  to  him  breathing  the  deepest  passion.     He  par- 
aded them  before  his  brother  (who  was  a  man  of  notoriously 
loose  habits)  and  his  other  profligate  associates.     When  he 
came  to  the  Hertford  spring  assizes  in  1699,  he  went  direct  to 
her  mother's  house.     He  dined  and  supped  there ;  he  spent 
the  evening  in  affectionate  conversation  with  the  girl  he  had 
betrayed.     His  bed  was  prepared  in  the  house,  and  the  servant- 
girl  was  sent  up  to  warm  it.     Spencer  Cowper  and  Sarah  Stout 
were  left  together  in  the  parlour — from  that  moment  she  was 
never  seen  alive.     They  left  the  house  together  at  half-past  ten 
at  night,  and  in  the  morning  her  corpse  was  discovered  in  the 
mill-dam.     It  would  perhaps  be  going  too  far  to  assert  that 
Cowper  was  certainly  her  murderer,  but  the  case  was  one  of  the 
darkest  suspicion.     He  was  placed  upon  his  trial  for  murder, 
but  to  anticipate  a  conviction  would  have  been  absurd.     The 
law  closed  the  mouth  of  the  principal  witness,  the  mother  of 
the  girl,  for  she  was  a  Quaker,  and  could  not  take  an  oath. 
The  judge,  a  friend  of  the  Cowpers,  indulged  the  prisoner  in  a 
degree  of  licence  in  his  defence  which  in  the  present  day  would 
not  be  tolerated.     The  Cowpers  were  powerful  in  Hertford, 
which  was  represented  in  Parliament  by  the  father  and  the 
brother  of  the  prisoner.    Every  artifice  that  could  influence  the 
minds  of  the  jury  against  Quakers  and  Tories  was  resorted  to. 
Every  prejudice  of  religious  or  political  fanaticism  against  an 


SPENCER   COWPERS   CASE.  409 

unpopular  sect  and  an  obnoxious  party  was  appealed  to.  The 
consequence  was  that  Cowper  was  acquitted.  An  attempt  was 
made  to  place  him  on  his  trial  a  second  time  by  means  of  an 
'  appeal  of  murder,'  a  proceeding  which  Lord  Holt,  in  this  very 
case,  designated  as  '  a  noble  badge  of  the  liberties  of  an  English- 
man.' But  here  again  the  influence  of  the  powerful  family  of 
the  Cowpers  paralysed  tlie  arm  of  justice.  The  sheriff  was 
tampered  with  and  the  writ  destroyed.  The  sheriff  paid  the 
penalty  ©f  his  misconduct  by  imprisonment  and  fine,  and  was 
subjected  to  a  severe  reljuke  from  Lord  Holt.  The  Cuwpers 
triumphed,  but  their  exultation  was  short.  Outraged  human- 
ity vindicated  its  rights.  The  press  teemed  with  indignant 
pamphlets,  and  at  the  next  election  both  the  Cowpers  were 
ignominiously  ejected  from  the  representation  of  their  native 
town."  ^ 

Such  is  the  mode  in  which  this  subject  may  be  treated, 
when,  as  in  the  old  fable,  the  lion  turns  sculptor.  It  is  far 
nearer  the  truth  than  Lord  Macaulay's  own.  To  gratify 
his  political  and  family  aversions.  Lord  Macaulay  has  raked 
up  the  ashes  of  poor  Sarah  Stout,  and  has  revived  a  very 
discreditable  incident  in  the  history  of  a  very  eminent  family. 
He  expresses  surprise  that  none  of  the  biographers  of  the 
poet  Cowper  should  have  alluded  to  this  adventure  of  his 
grandfather.  An  old  proverb  might  have  told  him  that 
there  are  certain  families  amongst  whom  it  is  a  breach  of 
good  manners  to  make  any  mention  of  "  hemp."  "We  think 
it  was  Quin  who  once  introduced  Foote  to  a  company  as  "  a 
gentleman  whose  father  was  hanged  for  murdering  his  uncle." 
Polite  and  pious  biographers  such  as  Hayley  and  Southey 
generally  avoid  all  allusion  to  such  disagreeable  subjects. 
■Lord  Macaulay  is  puzzled  by  what  appears  to  liim  unnecessary 
delicacy,  and  has  made  the  whole  scandalous  story  (for  scan- 

>  "  It  is  hanlly  necessary  to  remind  any  stuiliiit  of  Engli.sh  history  that  Spencer 
Cowper  anil  Sarah  Stout  are  the  Mosco  ami  Zara  of  'The  New  Atlantis.'  Seo 
vol.  i.  166, 174,  for  a  very  full  account  of  this  unhai)py  tran.saition.  Lord  Mac- 
aulay, who  luis  drawn  largely  ui>on  the  storu.s  of  this  work  in  other  instances, 
appears  to  have  overlooked  the  fact  that  this  narrative  was  to  he  found  in  the 
pages  of  a  contemporary  historian,  whose  character  for  acLurucy  is  second  only 
to  his  own." 


410  JUDICIAL    PUZZLES. 

dalous  it  must  remain,  even  taking  the  most  favourable  view) 
as  notorious  as  possilde.  Where  one  reader  dives  into  tlie 
'  State  Trials,'  a  thousand  will  read  Lord  Macaulay's  fifth  vol- 
ume ;  and  all  the  world  now  has  the  advantage  of  knowing 
that  the  grandfather  of  "that  excellent  man,  and  excellent 
poet,"  as  Lord  IMacaulay  justly  calls  William  Cowper,  behaved 
extremely  ill  to  a  pretty  Quaker  girl,  and  had  a  narrow  escape 
of  being  hanged  for  murdering  her. 


ESSAYS    ON    ART 


I.  EUSKIN'S   ELEMENTS   OF  DRAWING 
II.  A  DAY  AT  ANTWERP  (RUBENS   AND  RUSKIN) 

III.  GEORGE  CRUIKSIIANK 

IV.  JOHN  LEECH 


ESSAYS     ON     ART. 


I. 

THE  ELEMENTS  OF  DRAWING.^ 

Mr  Ruskin  has  been  before  the  workl  for  some  years  as  the 
most  voluminous,  the  most  confident,  and  ILe  most  dogmatic 
of  art-critics.  He  has  astonished  his  readers  no  less  by  liis 
platitudes  than  by  his  paradoxes.  lie  has  revealed  the 
astounding  fact  that  Titian  and  Velasquez  could  paint,  and 
has  made  the  no  less  surprising  discovery  that  Eaphael  could 
not ;  that  Eembrandt's  chiaroscuro  is  "  always  forced,  generally 
false, "and  wholly  vulgar;"'-  that  Murillo,  Salvator,  Claude> 
Poussin,  Teniers,  and  "  such  others,"  ^  are  base  and  corrupt ; 
that  it  is  the  duty  of  every  one  who  happens  to  possess  the 
principal  works  of  Strange,  Morghen,  Longhi,  and  tlie  other 
great  line-engravers,  forthwith  to  consign  them  to  the  flames ; 
and  that' the  horrors  of  the  French  Eevolution  were  attril)ut- 
able  to  the  Eenaissance  school  of  architecture.'*  These  kind 
of  assertions,  conveyed  in  a  light,  confident,  and  flippant  style, 
are  amusing  enough,  and,  as  long  as  Mr  Euskin's  audience  is 
confined  to  those  who  have  some  real  knowledge  of  the  sub- 
jects of  which  he  treats,  do  no  harm,  but  pass  off  as  the  fan- 
faronnadc  of  some  clever  half-craz}-  talker  d(jes  at  the  dinner- 
table,  when  no  one  thinks  his  amusing  absurdities  worth  a 

1  The  Elements  of  Drawing,    liy  Jolin  Ruskin,  Author  of  '  Modem  Painters,' 
&c.     (Blackwood'.s  Mofjazine,  January  1860.) 

2  Notes,  1859,  y.  52.  '  Elcniciita  of  Drawiny,  \\>y.,  j..  3-lG. 
^  Lectures,  138. 


414  ESSAYS   ON    ART. 

serious  answer,  and  he  is  tolerated  as  an  oddity  until  he 
becomes  intolerable  as  a  bore. 

Mr  Ruskin  has,  however,  of  late  appeared  as  a  lecturer  to 
the  working  classes,  and  a  teacher  of  drawing  to  beginners  in 
the  art  ;  and  in  this  character  he  assumes,  upon  what  ground 
we  do  not  exactly  know,  a  kind  of  semi-ofhcial  authority. 

Now  he  may  be  a  perfectly  safe  and  harmless  companion 
for  the  young  ladies  who  draw  at  the  Kensington  Museum,  but 
he  is  a  dangerous  guide  for  those  who  do  not  possess  consider- 
ably more  knowledge  than  himself :  those  who  do,  may  follow 
his  vagaries  so  long  as  they  find  them  amusing,  and  quit  them 
when  they  please,  without  much  harm  being  done.  But  the 
persons  to  whom  Mr  Ruskin  specially  addresses  himself,  in 
his  '  Letters  to  Beginners,'  will,  we  are  convinced,  derive 
nothing  but  mischief  from  his  teachings.  We  have  read  these 
Letters  with  attention,  and  we  can  discover  no  reason  why  Mr 
Ruskin  should  not  follow  up  the  '  Elements  of  Drawing '  with 
elements  of  naval  tactics,  horsemanship,  engineering,  dog- 
breaking,  political  economy,  rat-catching,  domestic  cookery, 
moral  philosophy,  and  the  rights  of  women, — upon  any  or  all 
of  which  subjects  he  is  fully  as  well  qualified  to  teach  as  he 
is  to  instruct  beginners  in  the  elements  of  drawing. 

Even  so  early  as  his  Preface,  Mr  Ruskin  makes  a  display 
of  ignorance  which  is  perfectly  astounding.  He  tells  his 
pupil  that  "  perspective  is  not  of  the  slightest  use  except  in 
rudimentary  work ; "  ^  that  "  no  great  painters  ever  trouble 
themselves  about  perspective,  and  very  few  of  them  know  its 
laws  ; "  that  "  Turner,  though  he  was  Professor  of  Perspective 
to  the  Royal  Academy,  did  not  know  what  he  professed,  and 
never  drew  a  single  bmlding  in  perspective  in  his  life  ;  "  and 
that  "  Prout  also  knew  nothing  of  perspective,"  and  twisted 
his  buildings,  as  Turner  did,  into  whatever  shapes  he  liked. 
This  is  precisely  equivalent  to  sajdng  that  a  knowledge  of 
anatomy  is  not  of  the  slightest  use  to  the  surgeon,  that  no 
great  operator  ever  troubled  himself  about  it,  and  that  Sir 
Astley  Cooper  and  Mr  Liston  were  utterly  ignorant  of  the 
science  they  professed  to  teach. 

^  Preface,  x^•iii. 


THE   ELEMENTS   OF   DRAWING.  415 

Drawing  consists  in  the  art  of  representing  on  a  plane  sur- 
face the  varieties  of  appearance  presented  by  natural  objects 
as  they  recede  from  the  eye.  Perspective  is  the  science 
which  teaches  the  artist  how  to  do  this  correctly ;  and  when 
Mr  Euskin  says  that  "  you  can  draw  the  rounding  line  of  a 
table  in  perspective,  but  you  cannot  draw  the  sweep  of  a  sea- 
bay  ;  you  can  foreshorten  a  log  of  wood  by  it,  but  cannot 
foreshorten  an  arm,"  ^  he  simply  displays  his  own  ignorance 
of  the  terms  he  uses. 

The  principles  which  govern  the  foreshortening  of  a  beam 
and  the  foreshortening  of  a  limb  are  identical.  It  is  true  that 
the  application  of  those  principles  is  more  difficult  in  the  latter 
than  in  the  former  case,  because  the  object  to  which  they  are 
applied  is  more  complex  and  varied  in  form.  Nor  is  the  acquir- 
ing of  such  knowledge  of  perspective  as  is  requisite  for  a  be- 
ginner by  any  means  so  difficult  a  task  as  Mr  Euskin  represents. 
Let  the  student  keep  steadily  in  view  the  fact,  that  the  impres- 
sion upon  liis  eye  is  produced  by  a  ray  of  light  reflected  straight 
from  the  object  he  wishes  to  represent ;  let  him  consider  his 
paper  as  a  transparent  vertical  plane  placed  between  his  eye 
and  the  object,  and  then  let  him  observe  at  what  point  sucli  a 
ray  would  pass  through  that  plane  ;  let  him  think  this  over, 
and  practise  it  by  observing  how  the  lines  of  any  simple  object 
fall  on  a  vertical  sheet  of  glass  (the  pane  of  a  window  for  in- 
stance), and  tracing  them  with  a  little  Chinese  white,  as  Mr 
Euskin  himself  has  described  in  a  following  page,  and  he  will 
find  his  difficulties  as  to  the  principles  of  perspective  will  dis- 
appear more  rapidly  than  he  would  expect.  But  never  let  the 
student  fall  into  the  fatal  error  of  supposing  that  he  can  safely 
neglect  the  acquirement  of  a  knowledge  of  perspective.  How 
he  is  to  acquire  that  knowledge  is  another  matter.  We  do  not 
say  that  he  must  necessarily  learn  it  from  treatises.  If  he 
learns  it  from  his  own  observation  of  nature,  so  much  the  bet- 
ter. But  learn  it  he  must,  or  he  will  fall  into  errors  as  gross 
as  those  which  we  shall  show  ]Mr  Euskin  has  himself  committed, 
when  we  come  to  consider  the  "  illustrations,  drawn  by  tlu^ 
author,"  with  which  he  has  adorned  liis  pages.     Having  told 

'  Preface,  xviii. 


416  ESSAYS   ON    ART. 

his  pupil  what  he  is  not  to  do,  Mr  Ruskin  next  proceeds  to  tell 
liiiu  what  he  is  to  do  ;  and  since  the  days  when  Michael  Scott 
set  his  troublesome  demon  to  make  ropes  of  sand,  we  have 
known  no  task  so  wearisome,  so  hopeless,  and  so  unprofitable. 
He  is  to  cover  small  i)ieces  of  smooth  paper  with  a  uniform 
grey  tint  by  means  of  an  infinitude  of  scratches  made  with 
black  ink  and  an  extremely  fine  steel  pen.  Having  accomplished 
the  uniform  tint,  he  is  then,  with  the  same  materials,  and  the 
same  instrument,  and  by  the  same  means,  to  produce  a  tint 
graduated  from  perfect  black  to  an  imperceptible  grey.  If  the 
ingenuity  of  man  were  employed  to  produce  a  scheme  to  dull 
the  intellect  and  cramp  the  hand  of  a  student,  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  devise  one  more  calculated  to  effect  those  objects. 
To  hope  to  draw,  however  imperfectly,  without  the  devotion  of 
time  and  labour,  is  folly  ;  but  time  and  labour  are  too  valuable 
to  be  cast  away — we  will  not  say  with  no  result,  but  with 
what  is  far  worse,  with  the  result  of  damping  energy,  extin- 
guishing hope,  degrading  the  intellect,  and  crippling  the  hand 
of  the  labourer.  Such  would  be  the  inevitable  consequence  of 
a  faithful  adherence  to  Mr  Ruskin's  teachings.  His  first  lesson 
is  to  reject  what  is  valuable  ;  his  second,  to  acquire,  at  the  cost 
of  infinite  pains,  what  is  worse  than  worthless. 

As  he  advances,  the  student  is  to  exchange  his  square  bits 
of  paper  for  the  capital  letters  of  the  alphabet — literally  to  go 
to  his  A,  B,  C  !  Here  he  might,  in  a  very  imperfect  way,  by 
copying  the  forms  of  the  letters,  acquire  some  accuracy  of  eye 
and  some  command  of  the  pencil ;  but  no — even  this  is  denied 
him  by  his  inexorable  taskmaster ;  the  forms  of  the  letters  are 
to  be  set  out  by  ruler  and  compasses  ! 

We  trust  that  few  students  will  follow  INIr  Euskin's  instruc- 
tions beyond  this  point.  If  they  do  they  will  find  themselves 
involved  in  an  inextricable  labyrinth  of  confusion,  and  directed 
to  attempt  the  most  useless  and  impossible  things.  For  ex- 
ample, they  will  find  that  they  are  desired  to  copy  photo- 
graphs. Now  a  photograph  is  a  valuable  subject  for  study.  It 
enables  one  to  refer  from  time  to  time,  at  leisure  and  whilst 
one  is  at  work,  to  an  accurate  transcript  of  a  great  part  of  the 
work  of  nature.     But  it  is  a  part  only;  and  the  very  excellence 


THE    ELEMENTS    OF    DRAWING.  417 

of  the  photograph  iu  that  part,  the  minuteness  and  accuracy 
with  which  it  records  what  it  does  contain,  renders  it  unfit  for 
the  purpose  of  being  copied  from,  hy  reason  of  the  impossiljility 
of  following  it  accurately.  At  the  same  time,  the  omissions 
and  variations  which  are  inherent  in  the  nature  of  the  process, 
make  it  equally  unfit,  for  reasons  the  very  reverse.  I'hoto- 
graphs  are  necessarily  affected  by  the  local  colour  of  the  objects, 
— thus  yellows  print  off  darker,  and  blues  lighter  than  in  na- 
ture ;  and  as  colour  is  universal  in  all  natural  objects,  this  ren- 
ders them  not  merely  useless  but  mischievous  to  the  student, 
and  requires  that  they  should  be  used  with  caution  even  by 
the  accomplished  artist,  who  may  derive  considerable  service 
from  them  as  memoranda  by  which  to  fill  up  the  details  of  his 
sketches,  or  supply  the  defects  of  his  memory. 

Our  limits  will  not  permit  us  to  go  step  by  step  with  the 
student  through  the  maze  which  Mr  Ruskin  has  prepared  for 
him,  or  to  point  out  the  quagmires  and  sloughs  of  despond 
which  await  him  on  his  journey ;  we  must  hasten  from  Mr 
Euskin's  teaching  to  his  practice. 

In  the  third  volume  of  his  '  Modern  Painters,'  j\Ir  liuskin  has 
given  us  as  a  frontispiece  his  exposition  of  "  Lake,  Cloud,  and 
Sky,"  drawn  by  himself,  and  very  beautifully  engraved  by  'Mv 
Armytage.  "We  do  not  intend  to  subject  this  work  to  criticism, 
such  as  might  fairly  be  applied  to  the  production  of  any  pro- 
fessional artist ;  we  shall  handle  it  gently  ;  but  ^h  Euskin  is 
a  teacher,  and  we  may  therefore  fairly  require  that  his  work 
should  at  least  be  free  from  such  errors  as  a  moderately  intel- 
ligent pupil,  who  had  received  half-a-dozen  lessons  from  an 
ordinary  drawing-master,  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  committing. 

The  scene  which  Mr  Euskin  has  selected  as  the  subject  for 
his  pencil  is  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Como.  The  sun,  sinking 
behind  a  distant  mountain,  pours  a  Hood  of  light  along  a  val- 
ley rich  with  woodland  and  meadow,  through  which  a  glitter- 
ing stream  winds  its  peaceful  way  past  towers  and  trees,  and 
beneath  the  arches  of  picturus(pie  bridges;  whilst  the  eye  of  tlie 
spectator  (who  is  supposed  to  be  at  an  elevation  of  about  eight 
hundred  feet)  is  sheltered  from  his  rays  by  a  group  of  fantast  it- 
clouds,  under  which  they  are  showered  down  upon  the  land- 

2  1) 


418  ESSAYS    ON    ART. 

scape  and  the  lake  beneath  his  feet.  The  subject  is  simple  as 
well  as  beautiful,  and  we  shall  proceed  presently  to  examine 
how  ]\Ir  liuskin  has  treated  it.  Before  we  do  so,  however,  we 
nmst  (at  the  risk  of  telling  the  reader  what  he  is  already  very 
i)ossibly  ac(iuainted  with)  remind  him  of  one  of  the  simplest 
rules  of  Mr  liuskin's  despised  science  of  Perspective. 

The  rays  of  the  sun,  being  parallel  to  each  other,  it  follows 
that  the  shadows  of  vertical  objects  cast  upon  a  horizontal 
plane  are  also  parallel  to  each  other.  When  such  shadows  are 
to  be  represented  in  a  drawing,  it  is  necessary,  in  order  to  give 
the  effect  produced  upon  the  eye  correctly,  that  they  should  be 
drawn  so  that  if  their  lines  were  prolonged  they  would  all  meet 
in  one  common  focus,  on  some  point  level  with  the  eye  of  the 
spectator,  which  point  is  called  the  vanishing-point. 

When,  therefore,  the  position  and  direction  of  any  one  such 
shadow  is  determined  (which,  of  course,  must  depend  upon  the 
relative  position  of  the  sun,  the  object  that  casts  the  shadow, 
and  the  spectator),  the  position  and  direction  of  all  the  rest 
may  be  found  by  means  of  lines  drawn  from  the  vanishing- 
point  of  that  shadow  past  the  base  of  the  objects  which  cast 
the  others.  We  will  now  apply  this  rule  to  iSIv  liuskin's 
drawing. 

The  eye  of  the  spectator,  he  tells  us,  is  about  eight  hundred 
feet  above  the  lake  ;  the  horizon  (as  it  is  technically  called), 
or  line  opposite  to  the  eye,  is  therefore  considerably  above  the 
top  of  the  tower  on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  picture — prob- 
ably about  level  with  the  line  of  mist  that  crosses  the  distant 
mountain. 

Now  on  the  margin  of  the  lake  there  are  a  number  of  trees, 
standing  on  a  Hat  alluvial  plain,  all  of  which  cast  very  distinct 
and  clearly-defined  shadows.  If  these  shadows  were  correctly 
drawn,  they  would  all  converge  at  some  one  point  on  the  hori- 
zon. Let  the  reader  find  the  vanishing-points  of  these  shadows. 
He  will  discover  that,  instead  of  converging  to  one  point,  they 
fall,  some  to  the  extreme  right,  others  to  the  extreme  left  of  the 
picture,  some  out  of  the  picture  altogether,  some  in  one  place, 
and  some  in  another,  apparently  not  by  rule  or  observation,  but 
by  mere  haphazard,  and,  strange  to  say,  all  wrong. 

We  can  explain  in  a  few  words  why  we  say  all  wrong. 


THE    ELEMENTS    OF    DRAWING.  419 

The  sun,  it  will  be  observed,  is  as  nearly  as  possible  oppo- 
site to  the  eye  of  the  spectator ;  the  shadow  of  the  large  tree 
directly  below  the  sun  would  therefore  be  projected  towards 
the  spectator.  Instead  of  this,  it  is  represented  as  falling  to- 
wards his  right  hand. 

The  vanishing-point  of  this  shadow  ought  to  be  in  the  cen- 
tre between  the  two  sides  of  the  picture,  and  about  half-way 
up  the  distant  mountain:  towards  this  point  all  the  shadows 
ought  to  converge.  It  wiU  be  found,  however,  that  not  one  of 
them  even  approaches  that  direction,  but  all  fall  wider  of  the 
murk  than  the  balls  of  an  awkward  squad  on  their  first  day's 
practice  at  the  target. 

If  any  reader  doubts  our  correctness,  let  him  take  the  print 
to  the  top  of  Arthur's  Seat  any  bright  afternoon,  when  the  sun 
is  sinking  towards  the  Pentlands,  and  observe  the  shadows  of 
the  trees  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Newington  and  Salisbury 
Green,  and  compare  the  workmanship  of  nature  with  the  work- 
manship of  Mr  Euskin. 

As  may  be  supposed,  this  is  only  one  of  many  blundei-s. 
They  are  about  as  numerous  in  this  pretty  print  as  in  the 
famous  old  Willow  Pattern  dinner-plate.  For  example,  Mr 
Euskin  has  introduced  two  bridges  in  parallel  planes ;  one  he 
throws  into  dark  shadow,  whilst  the  under  side  of  the  arch 
is  brilliantly  illuminated  ;  the  other — by  way  of  variety,  we 
suppose,  and  in  defiance  of  all  the  laws  of  optics — has  its  side 
in  bright  light,  whilst  under  the  arches  all  is  darkness.  In 
regard  to  both,  the  spectator  is  supposed  to  be  gifted  wilh 
organs  of  vision  endued  with  the  powers  of  Sir  Boyle  Eoche's 
celebrated  gun  ;  for  though  800  feet  above  the  bridges,  he  sees 
under  botli  of  them,  wliilst  not  a  particle  of  the  roadway  oviT 
either  of  them  is  viSil)le !  Such  is  the  work  of  one  who  as- 
sumes to  teach  the  "  Elements  of  Drawing  "  !  ^ 

At  page  14G  of  tliis  latter  book,  Mr  Euskin  gives  his  pupils 
an  example  of  his  capacity  for  instructing  them  in  the  laws 
which  govern  light  and  shade,  so  ingenious  in  combining  lh(> 
greatest  possible  number  of  obvious  errors  within  tlie  .smallest 

^  Errors  equally  obvious  will  be  found  in  Mr  Ktiskin's  other  iksigiis,  v. 
Plates  7G,   79,  84. 


4l'()  ESaAYM    ON    AJ:T. 

possible  space,  tliat  we  examined  it  carefully,  read  over  and 
over  again  every  word  relating  to  it,  and  found  it  re^Kiatcd 
four  times  before  we  could  convince  ourselves  that  it  wa.s  not 
intended  as  an  example  in  the  same  sense  in  which  a  drunkard 
suffering  under  delirium  tremens,  or  a  pickpocket  on  the  tread- 
wlieel,  is  spoken  of  as  an  example — to  wit,  a  shocking  example. 
The  subject  here  is  even  more  simple,  consisting  of  a  foot- 
bridge thrown  across  a  small  mountain-ravine  and  guarded  by 
a  hand-rail.  The  bridge  is  represented  as  supported  by  struts 
fixed  into  the  bank  on  each  side  of  the  bridge,  and  the  light 
ialls  from  the  right-hand  side  of  the  picture. 

Now  we  will  assume  that  some  one  of  the  shadows  is  cor- 
rectly given,  and  we  will  take  the  plainest  and  most  obvious — 
namely,  the  sliadow  thrown  by  the  strut  nearest  to  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  sketch.     The  light  (falling,  as  we  have  said, 
from  the  right  hand)  throws  the  lower  side  of  this  strut  into 
shade,  casting  also  a  distinct,  well-defined  shadow  down  the 
bank  to  the  left.     So  far  so  good.     But  will  Mr  Kuskiu  tell  us 
how  it  happens  that  the  fellow-strut  which  supports  the  other 
side  of  the  bridge,  and  which  cannot  by  possibility  receive  a 
single  ray  of  direct  light,  conies  to  be  in  bright  sunshine  also  ? 
Will  he  explain  how  it  happens  that  the  roadway  of  the  bridge 
stands  shadowless  as  Peter  Schlemihl  himself;  or  whence  comes 
the  long  shadow  which  wanders  down  the  bank  at  its  own  free 
will,  with  no  substance  whatever  to  account  for  it — an  inde- 
pendent, strong-minded  shadow,  living  on  a  separate  main- 
tenance, and  bidding  defiance  to  all  laws  of  optics  ?     And 
above  all,  will  he  tell  us  whether  his  experience  of  Alpine 
bridges  is  that  it  is  common  to  find  black  curtains  suspended 
from  them  ?  or  if  not,  how  it  happens  that  the  eye  of  the  spec- 
tator, which  wanders  freely  into  distance  over  the  bridge,  is 
denied  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  anything  whatever  i/.nder  it, 
where  in  nature  either  the  opposite  side  of  the  ravine,  clothed 
in  its  lovely  garment  of  heather,  fern,  or  moss,  or  a  landscape 
of  some  sort  near  or  distant,  must  have  presented  itself,  in- 
stead of  the  triangular  black  patch  with  which  he  has  filled  up 
the  space  ? 

It  is  impossible  to  comprehend  to  their  full  extent  the  ab- 


THE    ELEMENTS    OF    DK AWING.  421 

surdities  comprised  in  this  sketch  without  careful  exaniinatiou 
of  the  cut  itself ;  but  they  are  so  obvious,  that  any  eye  with 
the  slightest  practice  will  detect  them  at  once  ;  and  it  is  mar- 
vellous how'  any  one  who  has  seen  so  many  drawings  as  Mr 
Kuskin  must  have  done,  should  be  capable  of  putting  sucli  a 
design  upon  paper  without  being  startled  and  shocked  at  liis  own 
performance.  It  adds  one  to  the  many  instances  which  prove 
how  confidently  a  man  may  talk,  and  how  much  paper  he  may 
cover  with  ink,  upon  a  subject  of  the  very  rudiments  of  which 
he  may  remain  to  the  last  profoundly  ignorant. 

We  shall  content  ourselves  with  these  two  examples  of  the 
success  with  which  JNIr  Ruskin,  when  he  has  trusted  himself 
with  the  pencil,  has  shown  his  contempt  for  perspective  and 
optics,  and  shall  proceed  to  examine  an  instance  of  equal  dar- 
ing in  the  use  of  the  pen.  In  the  first  volume  of  '  Modern 
Painters,'  Mr  Ruskin  lays  down  the  law  upon  the  subject 
of  the  effect  of  shadow  on  water  in  the  following  words  : 
"  Water  receives  no  shadow.  .  .  .  There  is  no  shadow  on 
clean  water.  If  it  have  rich  colouring-matter  suspended  in  it, 
or  a  dusty  surface,  it  will  take  shadow  ;  and  when  it  has  itself 
a  positive  colour,  as  in  the  sea,  it  will  take  something  like 
shadows  in  the  distant  efi'ect,  but  never  near.  .  .  .  The 
horizontal  lines  cast  by  clouds  on  the  sea  are  7iot  shadows,  but 
reflections." 

Then  follows  Mr  Ruskin's  usual  assertion — "  These  rules  are 
universal  and  incontrovertible."  ^ 

It  is  difficult  to  say  whether  this  passage  is  more  remarkable 
for  error  of  fact,  confidence  of  assertion,  or  confusion  of  lan- 
guage. Mr  Ruskin  appears  not  to  know  what  shadow  is. 
AVherever  the  rays  of  the  sun  are  intercepted  by  an  opaque 
substance,  all  objects  beyond  that  substance  would  be  in  lotal 
darkness,  were  it  not  that  they  become  partially  illuminated 
by  means  of  the  rays  reflected  upon  them  by  other  surroinid- 
ing  ol)jects.  Shadow,  therefore,  is  simi)ly  a  dein-ivation  of  the 
direct  rays  of  the  sun  ;  and  to  assert  that  water  receives  no 
shadow,  is  either  an  absurdity  or  a  confusion  of  terms.  If  a 
cloud,  a  rock,  or  the  hull  of  a  ship,  is  interposed  between  the 

»  Moaeiu  raiiitiis,  ;530. 


422  ESSAYS   ON   ART. 

SUM  aiitl  tlic  snrfiico  of  tlic  wator,  the  water  receives  the 
shadow  ;  or,  to  speak  with  more  accuracy,  it  does  not  receive 
tlie  dircci  rays  of  tlic  sun,  or  if  tlic  intervening  body  be  semi- 
transparent,  receives  them  partially.  Now  let  us  examine  what 
effect  is  produced  upon  the  eye  of  the  spectator  by  this  dei)riva- 
tioii  of  light  on  the  surface  of  the  water.  If  the  water  were  as 
transparent  as  the  air  on  its  surface,  the  eye  would  be  uncon- 
scious of  its  existence — the  ray  of  light  which  defines  the  edge 
of  the  shadow  would  pass  through  the  water  as  it  passes  through 
the  air,  and  the  shadow  of  the  object  would  be  seen  at  the 
bottom,  in  the  same  way  (allowance  being  made  for  refraction) 
as  if  there  were  no  water  at  all. 

Such  absolute  transparency  is,  however,  never  found  in 
nature,  and  even  an  approach  to  it  is  extremely  rare.  Tliere 
is  always  practically  some  shadow  on  the  surface  of  the 
water,  the  degree  of  intensity  of  that  shadow  being  depen- 
dent on  several  circumstances,  but  mainly  on  the  degree  of 
transparency  of  the  water.  The  reader  may  test  this  for 
himself  by  a  very  simple  experiment.  Let  him  take  a  wash- 
hand  basin,  half  filled  with  clear  water,  and  place  it  in  bright 
sunshine ;  then  let  him  hold  a  pencil  or  brush  so  that  the 
shadow  shall  fall  partly  on  the  side  of  the  basin  above  the 
water,  and  partly  on  the  water,  he  will  see  the  shadow  on  the 
bottom  of  the  basin  refracted  at  the  point  where  it  impinges 
on  the  water ;  but  he  will  hardly  be  able  to  detect  any  percep- 
tible shadow  on  the  surface  of  the  water.  Then  let  him  darken 
the  water  with  a  little  sepia  ;  he  will  now  see  at  the  edge  of 
the  water  two  shadows,  one  on  the  surface  of  the  water  and  the 
other  on  the  basin,  seen  imperfectly  through  the  semi-ti^ans- 
parent  water.  As  these  shadows  approach  the  centre  of  the 
basin  where  the  water  is  deeper,  he  will  find  the  one  on  the 
basin  gradually  disappear,  and  the  one  on  the  surface  of  the 
water  become  deeper  and  more  distinct. 

"What  Mr  Euskin  means  by  saying  that  the  water  of  the  sea 
"has  itself  a  positive  colour,"  and  that,  therefore,  it  will  take 
"  something  like  shadows,"  but  which  we  suppose  are  not 
shadows,  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  say.  The  nearest  approach 
to  absolute  transparency  that  we  have  ever  seen  in  water,  is 


THE    ELEMENTS    OF    DRAWING.  423 

in  deep  sea.  Mr  Euskin's  notions  of  the  positive  colour  of 
sea-water  may  perhaps  be  taken  from  Brighton,  where  the  sea 
generally  looks  as  if  Neptune  had  been  shaving  himself,  and 
had  thrown  the  soap-suds  into  it. 

To  any  one  who  watches  with  care  the  ever-varying  ap- 
pearance of  the  ocean,  or  of  any  large  body  of  water  under 
the  influence  of  sunlight,  clouds,  and  wind,  it  will  be  ap- 
parent that  the  effects  which  delight  his  eye  are  produced  by 
the  action  of  shadow  falling  on  the  constantly  changing  sur- 
face, combined  w^ith  the  reflection  of  the  forms  of  objects  more 
or  less  disturbed  by  the  irregularities  of  that  surface.  He  will 
easily  discern  how  much  is  due  to  one  cause,  and  how  much 
to  the  other,  by  keeping  in  mind  that  the  reflection  of  any 
object  must  always  be  in  a  direct  line  between  that  object  and 
his  own  eye,  w^hilst  the  position  of  the  shadow  cast  by  the 
same  object  depends  altogether  upon  its  position  in  relation  to 
the  sun.  Thus  the  shadow  cast  by  a  cloud  falls  upon  that 
part  of  the  sea  between  which  and  the  sun  the  cloud  is  inter- 
posed, whilst  the  reflection  of  the  same  cloud  is  upon  that  part 
of  the  sea  which  appears  to  the  eye  to  be  in  a  direct  line  below 
the  cloud.  So,  too,  in  regard  to  the  effect  of  ripple  upon  the 
water ;  the  side  of  each  tiny  wave  which  is  presented  towards 
the  sun  is  in  light,  whilst  the  opposite  side  is  in  shadow.  The 
same  is  true  of  all  waves.  It  must,  however,  be  ahvays  borne 
in  mind,  that  the  appearance  presented  to  the  eye  by  water  de- 
pends greatly  upon  the  angle  at  which  it  is  seen;  and  also  that, 
owing  to  its  highly-polished  surface,  it  sends  back,  even  in  its 
shaded  part,  a  far  greater  portion  of  the  reflected  light  wliich  it 
derives  from  the  atmosphere  and  from  surrounding  objects 
than  land  does,  and  these  circumstances  produce  an  infinite 
variety  of  effects.^ 

We  have  said  enough  to  put  the  student  upon  his  guard 
against  supposing  that  he  can  deprive  any  benefit  from  the 

1  It  is  liut  fair  to  Jlr  Knskin  to  state,  that  in  a  Liter  edition  of  tlio  Modem 
Painters  lie  apitcirs  to  have  arrived  at  a  certain  dim  and  confused  conscious- 
ness that  the  rules  which  lie  had  so  rcnfidcntly  laid  down  as  "  univers-il  and 
incontrovertible"  were  not  to  ho  nlicd  upon,  tliou^h  he  has  not  had  the  can- 
dour to  point  out  the  errors  into  which  his  dogmatical  assertions  must  have 
led  readers  who  placed  reliance  on  his  authority. 


424  ESSAY8    ON    ART. 

teachings  of  Mr  Fiuskiii.  When  he  has  acquired  some  know- 
ledge and  proficiency  in  his  art,  he  may,  if  he  likes,  read  Mr 
liuskin's  book  to  see  what  ought  not  to  be  tauglit.  The  rule 
of  contrary  is  almost  a  safe  one  in  this  case.  Before  we  quit 
tills  part  of  the  subject,  however,  we  must  give  the  student 
a  few  words  of  advice  as  to  what  he  safely  may  do,  keeping  in 
mind  that  we  are  addressing  ourselves  to  those  who  follow  art 
not  as  a  professional  study,  but  as  a  means  of  useful  and  de- 
lightful self-instruction.  To  acquire  accuracy  of  eye  and  cor- 
rectness of  hand,  he  cannot  do  better  than  copy  carefully,  first 
in  pencil  and  afterwards  in  pen-and-ink,  Eetsch's  outlines, 
ilhistrative  of  "Faust,"  "The  Song  of  the  Bell,"  and  "The 
Fight  with  the  Dragon."  The  illustrations  of  Shakespeare's 
Plays  are  very  inferior.  This  practice  will  teach  him  accuracy 
and  delicacy  of  execution.  He  should  draw  the  hands,  feet, 
and  faces  with  extreme  care,  which  will  prepare  him  for  after- 
wards drawing  from  the  round,  or  from  the  living  model. 
Pinelli's  etchings  are  also  excellent  practice.  He  should  study, 
and,  when  more  advanced,  may,  with  great  advantage,  copy 
the  fac-simile  engravings  from  the  sketches  of  the  old  masters 
by  Bartolozzi  and  others.  Here,  however,  he  must  be  upon 
his  guard,  as  these  etchings  are  full  of  the  "pentimenti"  or 
corrections  of  the  artist ;  things  invaluable,  as  showing  how 
great  men  worked,  and  how  sedulously  they  corrected  any 
errors  into  which  they  might  happen  to  fall,  but  not  to  be  imi- 
tated. The  student  may  rely  upon  it  that  he  will  make  abun- 
dance of  mistakes  of  his  own  without  copying  those  of  other 
men.  In  landscape,  he  will  be  fortunate  if  he  can  procure  a 
copy  of  David  Coxe's  '  Young  Artist's  Companion,'  and  wise  if 
he  will  work  diligently  through  it.  Failing  this,  Harding's 
'  Elementary  Art '  is  a  safe  and  useful  guide.  Let  him  study 
woodcuts,  but  not  copy  any  except  such  as  have  been  drawn 
expressly  for  that  purpose.  The  reason  for  this  advice  is,  that 
the  process  of  woodcutting  is  precisely  the  reverse  of  that  of 
drawing  with  the  pencil  or  pen.  In  woodcutting,  the  stroke 
of  the  graver  produces  a  white  ;  in  drawing,  the  pencil — in  etch- 
ing or  engraving,  the  needle  or  graver — produces  a  dark  stroke. 
This  reversal  of  the  process  renders  the  Moodcut,  which  has  its 


THE    ELEMENTS    OF    DRAWING.  425 

own  peculiar  advantages  in  the  rendering  of  sparkling  effects 
(especially  observable  in  the  exquisite  works  of  Bewick,  and 
also  in  the  cuts  from  ^Mr  Birket  Foster's  designs),  unfit  for  a 
student  to  copy.  If  possible,  copy  drawings,  not  lithographs. 
In  the  lithograph  the  action  of  the  hand  is  unavoidably  re- 
versed ;  and  the  best  way  of  copying  them,  therefore,  is  to 
place  them  before  a  glass  and  to  copy  the  reliection.  Always 
remember  that  the  eye  requires  more  education  than  the  hand  : 
and  that  the  most  important  knowledge  to  be  acquired  is  to 
know  accurately  what  you  see.  To  one  who  does  not  pursue 
art  as  a  profession,  this  is  the  principal  advantage  of  practising 
it.  Even  a  moderate  proficiency  is  almost  equivalent  to  a  new 
sense  ;  and  a  man  who  does  not  draw  may  almost  be  said  not 
to  see.  The  student  will  soon  feel  that  he  hardly  sees  any 
object  thoroughly  until  he  has  drawn  it,  or  at  least  looked 
at  it  with  the  view  of  doing  so.  Do  not  meddle  witli  colour 
until  you  have  acquired  some  facility  in  representing  form 
accurately.  Seize  every  opportunity  of  seeing  and  carefully 
examining  the  sketches  and  studies  of  first-rate  artists — of  men 
who  can  draw.  Whatever  Mr  Euskin  may  say  to  the  contrary, 
you  will  be  fortunate  if  you  are  able  to  possess  yourself  of  the 
works  which  he  directs  you  to  throw  into  the  fire — the  works 
of  the  great  line-engravers !  It  is  the  only  way  in  which  a 
familiarity  with  the  greatest  works  of  art  can  be  acquired  by 
the  vast  majority  of  peoj)le.  A  journey  to  Eome  or  Florence, 
or  even  to  Paris  or  Antwerp,  is  not  possible  to  all  men ;  and 
even  when  possible,  it  is  but  a  very  small  portion  of  a  man's 
life  that  he  can  afford  to  spend  in  picture-galleries.  lUit  the 
engraving  may  be  always  with  us.  It  is  a  liouseliold  friend  ; 
an  armchair-and-slipper  companion.  "We  go  to  it  from  the 
turmoils,  disappointments,  and  vexations  of  life,  sure  of  a  wel- 
come. We  have  at  this  moment  lying  on  the  table  beside  us, 
Doo's  admirable  engi-aving  from  Etty's  great  picture  of  "The 
Combat ;  Woman  interceding  for  the  Vanquished."  What 
glorious  images  crowd  on  our  brain  as  we  gaze  u}>on  it !  Let 
us  enter  the  portals  of  that  temple  where  the  original  is  en- 
shrined— our  own  National  Gallery  of  Scotland.  What  associa- 
tions of  gcniub  and  heroism  greet  us  on  the  very  tln-eshold  '. 


426  ESSAYS    ON    ART. 

Them  tlu!  matchless  beauty  which  inspired  Pteynolds  and 
lioiniicy — wliicli  speeded  Nelson  to  victory,  and  shared  his 
thoughts  with  his  ungrateful  country  in  the  hour  of  his  crown- 
ing glory  and  death — still  glows  on  the  canvas  of  Lawrence. 
That  lithe  agile  boy,  who  stands  ready  to  vault  into  his  sad- 
dle, is  one  whose  "  lion  port  and  awe-commanding  face,"  in 
days  when  genius  had  shed  its  full  effulgence  on  his  brow, 
and  linked  the  name  of  Wilson  in  kindred  immortality  with 
those  of  Burns  and  Scott,  was  again  stamped  in  undying 
colours  by  the  pencil  of  Watson  Gordon.  There  Gainsborough 
tells  us  how  lovely,  in  all  the  charm  of  perfect  womanhood, 
was  the  earthly  fonu  of  her  whose  spirit  hovered  over  Graham 
on  the  bloody  field  of  Barossa  ;  and  here,  surrounded  by  noble 
works  of  Tintoretto,  Vandyke,  and  Velasquez,  by  the  sweet 
fiincies  of  Noel  Baton,  and  the  glens  and  moors  in  which  Tliom- 
son  of  Duddingston  delighted,  stand  five  grand  pictures  by 
Etty.  In  three  of  them  he  tells  how  Judith,  the  daughter  of 
ISIerari,  clothed  in  holiness  and  chastity,  went  forth  to  deliver 
the  people  of  God  from  the  might  of  Holofernes,  the  general  of 
the  Assyrians  ;  how  she  put  from  her  the  garments  of  widow- 
hood, and  put  on  her  the  garments  of  joy ;  how  she  anointed 
her  face  with  ointment,  and  tied  together  her  locks  with  a 
crown ;  how  her  sandals  ravished  his  eyes,  and  her  beauty 
made  his  soul  captive ;  how  the  Lord  struck  the  invader  by 
the  hand  of  a  woman,  and  the  angel  of  the  Lord  kept  her  both 
going  and  abiding,  and  did  not  suffer  his  handmaid  to  be 
defiled,  but  called  her  back  unpolluted  to  the  people  she  had 
saved.  Next  he  tells  how  Beuaiah,  the  son  of  Jehoiada,  who 
killed  the  lion  in  the  pit  on  a  snowy  day,  and  plucked  the 
spear  that  was  like  a  weaver's  beam  out  of  the  hand  of  the 
Eg)^tian,  slew  two  lion-like  men  of  j\Ioab.  And  last,  greatest 
and  most  lovely  of  his  w^orks,  he  shows  how  ^lercy,  clothed  in 
the  garb  of  the  most  perfect  work  of  God,  arrests  the  uplifted 
arm  of  the  victor,  and  tells  him  that  vengeance  is  not  his. 
INIr  Baiskin  says  that  Etty  is  "gone  to  the  grave,  a  lost  mind"! 
Let  him  quicken  his  steps,  and  hurry  stealthily  past  the  taber- 
nacle of  Holofernes,  lest  the  flashing  sword  of  Judith  should 
fall  upon  his  head  ! 


THE    ELEMENTS    OF    DRAWING.  427 

A  "lost  mind"  indeed  !  Let  the  student  of  art  read  dili- 
gently the  stoiy  of  that  mind.  Let  him  note  the  patience,  the 
courage,  the  undaunted  determination  with  whicli,  thruugli  po- 
verty, neglect,  obscurity,  and  disease,  Etty  worked  his  way  to 
fame  ;  then  let  him  listen  to  the  tales  that  are  told  by  men  now 
great  in  art  of  how  the  kind  word,  the  wise  atlvice,  the  gener- 
ous encouragement,  which  he  had  never  received,  fell  from  his 
lips  amongst  the  youths  with  whom  he  sat  labouring  in  age  at 
the  task  he  had  loved  with  a  life-long  constancy. 

But  wc  must  tear  ourselves  away  from  these  associations, 
with  all  that  is  lovely,  and  all  that  is  noble,  to  go  back  to  ^Ir 
Euskin  and  his  book. 

We  have  still  a  heavy  task  before  us,  and  one  which  our 
limits  will  by  no  means  permit  us  to  do  full  justice  to.  Not 
content  with  art,  Mr  Euskin  extends  his  teaching  to  History, 
Religion,  Metaphysics,  Political  Economy,  and  about  every 
cognate  and  correlative  branch  of  study.  His  views  on  most 
of  these  subjects,  when  tliey  happen  to  be  intelligible  (which  is 
not  always  the  case),  have  at  least  the  charm  of  novelty.  Wc 
can,  however,  only  notice  one  or  two  salient  points  wliiili 
appear  to  us,  to  adopt  Mr  Ruskin's  language,  to  be  "  very 
precious." 

The  history  of  the  world,  according  to  Mr  Ruskin,  is  to  bo 
divided  into  three  great  periods:  the  Classical,  extending  to 
the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  ;  the  ^Medieval,  extending  from 
that  fall  to  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century;  and  the  Modern, 
thenceforward  to  our  own  days.^ 

The  first  was  the  age  of  pagan  faith,  when  men  believed  in 
the  gods  of  their  country,  such  as  they  were  ;  the  second  was 
the  age  that  confessed  Christ ;  and  tlie  tliird  (our  own  wicked 
days,  and  our  own  wicked  selves  inclusive)  is  the  age  that  de- 
nies Christ.  Of  course  we  need  not  say  that  tlie  second  age, 
which  culminated  in  burning  John  Huss  as  a  heretic,  and  Joan 
of  Arc  as  a  witch,  is  the  age  which,  according  to  Mr  Ruskin, 
has  comprised  all  the  little  virtue  ever  to  be  found  in  the 
world.  The  change  to  "  Modernism,"  wliich  took  place  just  at 
the  time  of  the  Reformation,  when,  under  the  teacliiiigs  of  the 

>  Li'ctuic  iv.,  19i. 


428  ESSAYH  ON  Airr. 

Icadcis  of  Unit  laliil  luovcinciit,  we  l)Cf,Mn  to  "deny  Clirist," 
was  Ji  cliango  from  better  to  worse,  a  clian^'e  })ackwards  from 
tlie  Ijutterlly  to  the  f,'rub  ;  or,  as  Mr  Kuskin  ratlier  irreverently 
expresses  it,  "  like  Adam's  new  arrangement  of  his  nature." 

The  great  and  fatal  act  which  inaugurated  the  opening  of  this 
unhappy  era,  in  the  sloughs  of  which  we  are  still  sticking,  was 
tlie  invitation  of  Raphael  to  Rome  to  decorate  the  Vatican  for 
Pope  Julius  II.,  when  "  he  wrote  upon  its  walls  the  Meyie  Te- 
kd  Upharsin  of  the  arts  of  Christianity."  ^  "  And  from  that 
spot  and  that  hour,  the  intellect  and  the  art  of  Italy  date  their 
degradation ; "  and  so  going  on  from  worse  to  worse,  not  only  in 
Italy,  but  wherever  "  Modernism  "  has  prevailed,  the  world  has 
been  becoming  more  corrupt,  more  cruel,  more  ignorant,  more 
foul  and  abominable  in  every  way,  until  at  last,  principally,  as 
it  would  seem,  from  the  general  prevalence  of  the  "  accursed  " 
Renaissance  school  of  architecture  —  "Where  from  his  fair 
Gothic  chapel  beside  the  Seine,  the  King  St  Louis  had  gone 
forth,  followed  by  his  thousands,  in  the  cause  of  Christ,  another 
king  was  dragged  forth  from  the  gates  of  his  Renaissance  palace 
to  die  by  the  hands  of  the  thousands  of  his  people  gathered  in 
anotlier  crusade,  or  what  shall  it  be  called  ?  whose  sign  was  not 
the  cross,  but  the  guillotine."  "^ 

Now,  this  rabid  nonsense  was  actually  addressed  to  tlie 
people  of  Edinburgh  in  the  form  of  lectures.  Is  it  mere  mid- 
summer madness  ? — the  simple  raving  of  a  lunatic  ?  Does  Mr 
liuskin  write  from  a  cell  in  Bedlam,  or  is  he  to  be  considered 
still  ameual)le  to  the  treatment  and  arguments  applicable  to 
sane  men  ?  That  we  may  not  be  supposed  to  have  exaggerated 
or  misrepresented  anything,  we  give  one  passage,  out  of  many 
on  the  subject,  word  for  word  : — 

"And  in  examining  into  the  spirit  of  these  three  epochs,  ob- 
serve I  don't  mean  to  compare  their  bad  men.  I  don't  mean 
to  take  Tiberius  as  a  type  of  Classicalism,  nor  Ezzelin  as  a 
type  of  iMedievalism,  nor  Robespierre  as  a  type  of  Modernism. 
Bad  men  are  like  each  other  in  all  epochs ;  and  in  the  Roman, 
the  Paduan,  or  the  Parisian,  sensuality  and  cruelty  admit  of 
little  distinction  in  the  manners  of  their  manifestation.  But 
1  Lecture,  p.  213.  »  Lecture,  p.  138. 


THE    ELExMENTS    OF    DRAWING,  429 

among  men  comparatively  viituous,  it  is  important  to  study  the 
phases  of  cliaracter  ;  and  it  is  into  these  only  that  it  is  neces- 
sary for  us  to  inquire.  Consider  therefore,  fii-st,  the  essential 
difference  in  character  between  three  of  the  most  dcvuted  mili- 
tary heroes  whom  the  three  great  epochs  of  the  world  have 
produced,— all  three  devoted  to  the  service  of  their  country,  all 
of  them  dying  therein.  I  mean  Leonidas  in  the  Classical  pe- 
riod ;  St  Louis  in  the  Medieval  period  ;  and  Lord  Nelson  in  tlie 
Modern  period. 

"  Leonidas  liad  the  most  rigid  sense  of  duty,  and  died  with 
the  most  perfect  faith  in  the  gods  of  his  country,  fulfilling  the 
accepted  prophecy  of  his  death.  St  Louis  had  the  most  rigid 
sense  of  duty,  and  the  most  perfect  faith  in  Christ.     Nelson 

had  the  most  rigid  sense  of  duty,  and 

"  You  must  supply  my  pause  icith  your  charity^  ^ 
Now,  if  this  passage  has  any  meaning  at  all,  it  means  that 
Leonidas  was  a  better  man,  and  St  Louis  a  better  Christian, 
than  Nelson  ;  that  the  age  of  Leonidas  was  more  heroic,  and 
the  age  of  Louis  IX.  more  Christian,  than  the  present  century. 
The  death  of  Leonidas  is  the  hackneyed  theme  of  every  school- 
boy ;  so  familiar,  indeed,  as  the  standard  instance  of  heroic 
self-immolation  at  the  shrine  of  honour  and  patriotism,  that  it 
requires  a  moment's  thought  to  recall  the  fact  that  the  point 
of  honour  was  mistaken,  and  that  patriotism  would  have  been 
better  served  by  his  preserving  his  life  than  by  his  throwing  it 
away.     We  need  only  refer  to  the  story,  as  told  in  ]\Ir  Grote's 
History,^  to  be  reminded  of  this.     So  long  as  he  repelled  the 
Persians  from  the  Pass  of  Tliermopyla3 — so  long  as  he  stood  as 
a  barrier  between  the  invader  and  his  country,  Leonidas  and 
his  Ijand  deserve  the  same  rank  in  history  (and  a  higher  one 
cannot  be  awarded)  as  that  Mhich  was  earned  ])y  tlu;  brigade 
of  Guards  who  held  Ilouguemont  on  the  day  wlien  the  fate  of 
Europe  hung  upon  the  issue  of  Waterloo.     But  when  liis  flank 
was  turned — when  resistance  became  impossible,  rational  duty 
and  rational  honour  would  have  rec^uired  Leonidas  to  reserve 
the  lives  of  his  men  for  future  combats,  and  his  own  fur  the 
future  service  of  his  country.     TIk;  Spartan  sense  of  duty,  the 
»  Li-ctnio  iv.,  VM.  •  Vc.l.  v.,  120. 


430  ESSAYS    ON    ART. 

Spartan  jxiiiit  of  liononr,  required  him  to  offer  up  both — a 
worse  tluiii  useless  sacrifiee  on  the  altar  of  patriotism.  He 
flung  them  away,  not  recklessly,  not  wantonly,  but  coolly  and 
deliberately,  with  high  and  devoted  heroism.  Posterity  lias 
justly  awarded  to  him  high  honour,  but  honour  not  so  high  as 
that  with  which  a  future  posterity  will  encircle  the  names  of 
llavelock  and  Neill,  of  Clyde,  Outram,  and  Inglis,  of  the 
heroes  who  held  the  lines  at  Balaklava,  and  the  heroes  who 
rescued  the  garrison  of  Lucknow — warriors  of  the  age  that 
has  given  birth  to  Florence  Nightingale  ! — the  age  which  ^Ir 
Ruskin  tells  us  denies  Christ ! 

Mr  Ituskin  says  that  Leonidas,  St  Louis,  and  Nelson,  all 
died  in  the  service  of  their  country.  As  to  one  of  the 
three,  he  is  manifestly  wrong.  St  Louis  died  in  an  attempt 
to  baptise  the  King  of  Tunis  against  his  will ;  an  object 
about  as  legitimate  as  if  the  Sultan  were  to  besiege  Paris 
for  the  purpose  of  circumcising  the  Emperor  of  the  French. 
His  sanctity  displayed  itself  in  "  pursuing  with  blind  and 
cruel  zeal  the  enemies  of  the  faith."  France  was  exhausted 
of  men  and  treasures.  The  flower  of  her  troops  panted 
and  died  on  the  burning  sands  of  Africa,  and  he  closed 
the  last  of  the  crusades  by  an  inglorious  death,  wliich  was 
immediately  followed  by  the  ignominious  retreat  of  the  re- 
mains of  an  army  of  six-and-thirty  thousand  men,  whom  he 
had  lured  on  to  destruction  by  the  hope  of  plunder.^  This  is 
Mr  Iluskin's  idea  of  dying  in  the  service  of  his  country.  St 
Louis's  sole  argument  in  favour  of  Christianity  consisted,  to 
use  his  own  language,  in  thrusting  his  sword  as  far  as  it  would 
go  into  the  belly  of  any  disputant  who  might  happen  to  be 
opposed  to  him  !  ^  This  is  Mr  Ruskin's  idea  of  the  most  rigid 
sense  of  duty,  and  most  perfect  faith — the  type  of  an  age 
which  confessed  Christ. 

We  almost  fear  to  approach  the  example  which  Mr  Ruskin 
has  given  as  the  type  of  an  age  denying  Christ.     Our  affec- 

^  Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall,  chap.  59. 

-  "  L'omme  lay  quanti  il  ot  medirc  de  la  loy  Crestiennc,  ne  doit  pas  dcffendre 
la  loy  Crestienne  ne  niais  qiie  de  I'esji^e,  dequoi  il  doit  donner  parmi  h  ventre 
dedens  tant  comme  elle  y  pent  entrer." — Joinvillc,  p.  12;  cited  by  Gibbon, 
Decline  aiul  Fall,  chap.  59. 


THE   ELEMENTS   OF   DRAWING.  431 

tion  for  the  memory  of  Nelson  is  so  deep,  our  disgust  at  the 
malignant  insinuation  lurking  under  the  mask  of  charity  so 
intense,  that  we  can  hardly  trust  ourselves  with  words  to 
express  it.  We  shall,  however,  as  far  as  possible  suppress 
these  feelings,  and  proceed  to  supply  Mr  Ifuskin's  pause,  not 
witli  charity — for  Nelson  needs,  and  Mr  liuskin  deserves  none 
— but  with  a  few  words  of  simple  truth. 

No  doubt  Mr  Euskin  intended  to  awaken  in  the  minds  of 
liis  hearers  a  recollection  of  the  char<(es  once  so  rife  against 
Nelson,  and  now  so  fully  proved  to  be  groundless,  with  regard 
to  the  execution  of  Caracciolo,  Party  spirit  long  perverted, 
and  the  carelessness  of  successive  biographers  obscured  the 
truth.  But  since  Sir  Harris  Nicolas's  publication  of  the 
'  Nelson  Despatches,'  we  should  have  supposed  it  to  be  im- 
possible for  any  one  to  repeat  these  slanders.^ 

The  facts  are  few  and  simple.  Caracciolo  was  a  coinmodi)re 
in  the  service  of  the  King  of  Naples,  and  commanded  a  ship 
called  the  Tancredi  with  credit.  He  accompanied  the  king 
in  his  flight  to  Palermo,  By  the  permission  of  the  king  he 
returned  to  Naples,  to  avoid  the  confiscation  of  his  estates  by 
the  Piepublican  government.  He  deserted  the  cause  of  the 
master  whose  commission  he  held,  and  accepted  the  command 
of  the  Kepublican  marine.  He  took  an  active  part  in  tlie  war, 
and  fired  upon  the  flag  of  the  king  and  his  allies  the  English. 
He  was  captured,  and  brouglit  to  the  Foudroyant,  then  the 
flagship  of  Nelson,  who  was  lligli  Admiral  of  the  allied  navy. 
From  Hardy,  and  the  other  gallant  men  who  served  under 
Nelson,  and  who  had  known  Caracciolo  in  former  days,  lie 
received  far  more  compassion  and  consideration  tlian  he  de- 
served. Nelson  had  but  one  duty  to  perform,  anil  lie  i)er- 
formed  it  as  he  did  every  duty  that  lie  owed  to  liis  country. 
He  ordered  a  court-martial,  composed  of  ollicer.s  in  the  Nea- 
politan service,  to  be  inmiediately  held.  Caracciolo  was  tried, 
convicted,  sentenced,  and  hanged.  He  died,  as  he  deserved, 
the  ignominious  death  of  a  deserter  and  a  traitor.  Had 
Nelson  shrunk  from  the  performance  of  this  act  of  justice,  he 
would  have  been  false  to  his  country,  to  her  allies,  and  to 

1  Despatches  and  Letters  of  Lord  Nelson,  iii.  39S  ;  App.  (',  p.  -lOl*. 


432  ESSAYS  ON  Airr. 

himself.  The  story  of  his  liaving  acted  uuder  tlie  iiifhience  of 
Lady  iramilton  luis  been  refuted  over  and  over  a<,'ain.  It  was 
ill  silence  and  in  solitude  that  he  performed  liis  stern  and 
painful  duty.  He  communicated  with  no  one  but  his  oflBcers, 
and  to  them  his  commands  were  given  in  the  fewest  possible 
words.  There  is  not  one  particle  of  evidence  that  Lady 
Hamilton  took  any  part  whatever  in  the  transaction.  The 
ignorant  blunders  of  Miss  Williams,  the  spiteful  insinuations 
of  Lord  Holland,  the  malignant  calumnies  of  Captain  Bren- 
ton,  and  the  revengeful  slanders  of  Captain  Foote,  have  been 
repeatedly  disproved.  Yet  Mr  Euskin  has  the  insolent  au- 
dacity to  crave  "  charity "(!)  for  one  who  was  perhaps  the 
most  perfect  realisation  of  the  ideal  of  a  hero  that  the  world 
has  seen. 

There  is  nothing  more  painful  in  j\Ir  Ruskin's  writings  than 
the  total  want  of  reverence  for  things  divine  or  human  that 
pervades  them.  The  treasures  of  ancient  art,  from  wliich 
successive  ages  have  dmnk  deep  draughts  of  inspiration,  are 
to  him  nothing  but  stumbling-blocks  in  a  dark  valley  of  ruin.^ 
He  sees  nothing  but  "  a  faded  concoction  of  fringes,  muscular 
arms,  and  curly  heads  "  ^  in  Eaphael's  impersonation  of  the 
lledeemer  and  his  apostles ;  and  a  "  pleasant  piece  of  furni- 
ture for  the  corner  of  a  boudoir"  in  the  Virgin  mother  of 
our  Lord. 

The  same  unhappy  tone  of  mind  shows  itself  wherever 
sacred  subjects  are  referred  to.  It  is  painful  to  find  a  person 
of  Mr  Euskin's  education  adopting,  when  he  has  occasion  to 
speak  of  the  high  and  solemn  mysteries  of  religion,  a  tone  of 
familiarity  which  has  hitherto  been  confined  to  the  lowest  and 
most  ignorant  sectaries.  Still  more  offensive  is  his  habit  of 
dealing  damnation  around  on  all  who  disagree  with  him. 
Thus  Mr  Corbould  paints  an  "  Iphigenia  "  and  a  "  Daughter 
of  Jephthah,"  in  a  manner  not  accordant  with  ]\Ir  Ruskin's 
taste,  and  forthwith  INIr  Corboidd  "  believes  in  no  Deity  "  !  ^ 
Now  we  must  confess  that  Mr  Corbould's  "  Dream  of  Fair 
Women"  did  not  quite  realise  our  ideas  with  regard  to  the 

'  Lectures,  p.  219.  ^  Jlotlern  Pointers,  iii.  54. 

3  Notes,  No.  v.,  1859,  p.  41. 


THE    ELEMENTS    <iF    DIIAWIXC.  4?>?> 

half-dozen  women  most  celebrated  for  beauty  recorded  in 
history,  sacred  or  profane.  We  believe,  however,  that  Mr 
Corbould  M'as  only  in  part  answerable  for  this  slioilcoininp. 
The  principal  figure,  we  have  been  told,  was  a  portrait ;  and 
we  believe  that  what  we  cannot  help  considering  the  some- 
what questionable  taste  of  representing  that  lady,  whoever 
she  may  be,  as  the  centre  of  a  group  of  what  Mr  Thaeki-ray 
calls  "  Clipstone  Street  nymphs  " — ladies  who  assume  for  tlie 
nonce  the  character  of  Cleopatra  or  Meg  Merrilees,  Joan  of 
Arc  or  Fair  Eosamond — is  not  chargeable  on  Mr  Corbould. 
Hut  be  this  as  it  may,  what  absurd  insolence  to  ground  upon 
it  a  charge  of  atheism  against  the  artist !  1S\y  Corbould  may, 
however,  console  himself.  He  only  shares  the  common  fate 
of  the  whole  nation.  We  have  all  (except,  of  course,  Mr 
liuskin)  "  wholly  rejected  all  these  heathenish,  Jewish,  and 
other,  such  beliefs,  and  have  accepted  for  things  worshipful, 
absolutely  nothing  but  pairs  of  ourselves  ;  taking  for  idols, 
gods,  or  objects  of  veneration,  the  infinitesimal  points  of 
humanity,  Mr  and  Mrs  P.,  and  the  ]\Iisscs  and  Master  P's." ' 

Now  of  this  we  can  only  say  to  Mr  Iluskin,  like  Sir  Andrew 
Aguecheek,  "  In  sooth  thou  wast  in  very  gracious  fooling  last 
night  when  thou  spokest  of  Pigrogromitus,  and  of  the  Vapians 
passing  the  equinoxtial  of  Quebus  ;  'twas  very  good,  i'  faith." 

Mr  Piuskin  has  become  powerless  for  blame.  Mr  Mulready 
and  Mr  Maclise  may  be  well  content  to  share  his  condem- 
nation with  Raphael  and  Murillo.  Mr  Creswick  and  Mr 
David  Roberts  will  not  consider  themselves  in  bad  comi>any 
with  Claude,  Salvator,  Poussin,  and  Canaletto.  P.ut  his  i)raise 
is  not  so  harmless. 

"  Of  all  mad  creatures,  if  the  lenmcd  arc  right, 
It  is  the  slaver  kills,  and  not  the  bite." 

His  fulsome  adulation  of  Turner  is  simply  ridiculous. 
Turner's  fame  owes  just  as  nnich  to  Mr  Ihiskin  as  Shake- 
speare's does  to  Mr  Charles  Kean.  We  mean  no  disresiH'ct 
to  that  gentleman.  We  simply  use  tlic  illustration,  bconu.se 
those  who  would  not  have  known  the  merits  of  Slmkc.si)eftre 
but  for  the  scenic  representations  at  tlio  Princess's  Theatre 
»Not.s,  IS.''.?,  p.  42. 
2  E 


434  ESSAYS    ON    AIIT. 

arc  just  .about  upon  a  par,  as  to  literary  knowledge,  with 
those  who  would  not  have  known  the  merits  of  Turner  hut 
lor  Mr  liuskin's  writings,  in  art-knowledge. 

But  upon  some  artists  of  real  ability  his  commendation  lias 
had  a  most  mischievous  effect.  Mr  Wallis,  Mr  lirott,  and  Mr 
Windus,  have  been  perhaps  the  principal  sufferers.  We  men- 
tion their  names  with  sincere  respect  for  their  talents,  and  a 
hope  that  they  may  shake  themselves  free  from  the  incubus 
that  has  had  so  pernicious  an  effect  upon  their  genius.  There 
is  another  artist,  with  higher  and  longer  established  claims  to 
admiration,  to  whom  we  must  address  a  few  words  of  respect- 
ful admonition. 

Mr  Noel  Paton  early  proved  how  richly  he  was  endowed  by 
nature  with  the  gift  of  playful  fancy.  His  "  Oberon  and  Ti- 
tania,"  to  which  we  have  already  referred,  is  a  living  witness 
of  this.  His  picture  of  "  Home  "  established  his  right  to  the 
highest  place  as  a  master  of  all  that  is  pathetic  in  art,  of  all 
that  can  touch  the  deepest  sympathies  of  human  nature ;  and 
in  addition  to  this,  it  proved  that  he  thoroughly  knew  how  to 
make  every  detail  of  a  picture  contribute  to  the  main  object 
and  main  interest,  still  retaining  its  subordinate  place,  and 
not  obtruding  its  faultless  execution  on  the  eye.  His  "  Dante 
and  Beatrice  "  (a  picture  which,  as  far  as  we  know,  was  never 
exhibited,  but  which  we  once  had  the  good  fortune  to  see)  was 
a  chaste  and  poetic  embodiment  of  the  creation  of  the  great 
Florentine  \f  orthy  of  the  original  conception,  and  admirable  in 
drawing  and  execution.  With  these  gifts  of  genius,  what 
malign  influence  has  induced  ^Mr  Baton  to  stoop  to  the  cata- 
leptic contortions,  the  crude  colour,  and  the  microscopic  nig- 
gling of  "  The  Bluidy  Tryste,"  and,  still  worse,  to  the  accumu- 
lated horrors  of  "  In  Memoriam  "  ?  We  make  this  remon- 
strance with  feelings  of  respect  and  admiration  for  the  artist, 
and  gratitude  for  the  delight  we  have  received  from  his  works. 
We  implore  him  to  retrace  his  steps ;  and  we  can  suggest  to 
him  no  safer  guide,  no  better  teacher,  and,  in  the  present  day, 
we  may  add,  no  higher  example,  than  his  former  self.^ 

^  This  passage  was  written  thirteen  years  ago.     I  leave  it  as  it  stands,  for  I 
cannot  lionestly  alter  it.     I  have  great  pleasure  in  bearing  testimouj-  to  the 


THE    ELEMENTS    OF    DRAWING.  435 

We  have  heard  a  good  deal,  from  time  to  time,  of  the  powers 
of  Mr  Euskin's  eloquence ;  and  we  must  admit  that  hen-  and 
there  we  have  met  with  passages  which  induced  us  to  say 
with  Lorenzo,  that  he 

"  hath  planted  in  his  memory 
An  army  of  good  words." 

But,  upon  examination,  we  have  invarialjly  found  that  those 
grandiloquent  sentences  were  like  the  little  boy's  india-rubber 
ball  immortalised  by  the  pencil  of  Leech  and  the  pen  of 
'  Punch '  :— 

"  Scientific  Governess,  loq. — '  My  dear,  if  you  puncture  this 
ball,  it  will  collapse.     Do  you  understand  me  ? ' 

"  Little  Boy. — '  0  yes  !  You  mean,  if  I  prick  it,  it  will  go 
squash.' " 

So,  when  we  pricked  Mr  Euskin's  rotund  periods  with  the 
smallest  possible  point  of  common-sense,  we  have  invariably 
found  that  they  "  go  squash." 

We  were  for  some  time  puzzled  as  to  the  source  from  which 
this  peculiar  style  of  eloquence  is  derived,  but  we  have  at  last 
discovered  it.  Apropos  of  Mr  Hook's  very  clever  picture 
"  Luff,  Boy,"  Mr  Euskin  breaks  forth  with  the  following  rhap- 
sody on  things  in  general:  "War  with  France?  It  maybe. 
And  they  say  good  ships  are  building  at  Cherbourg.  War  with 
Eussia  ?  That  also  is  conceivable ;  and  the  Eussians  invent 
machines  that  explode  under  water  by  means  of  knobs.  War 
with  the  fiend  in  ourselves  ?  That  may  not  so  easily  come  to 
pass,  he  and  we  being  in  close  treaty  hitherto — yet  perhaps  in 
good  time  may  be  looked  for.  And  against  eneniii.'s  foreign  or 
international,  French,  Sclavonic,  or  demoniac,  what  arms  have 
we  to  count  upon  ?  I  hear  of  good  artillery-practice  at  Wool- 
wich ;  of  new  methods  of  sharpening  sabres,  invented  by 
Sikhs;  of  a  modern  condition  of  tlie  blood  of  Nessus,  wliich 
sets  sails  on  fire,  and  makes  an  end  of  Herculean  ships  like 
Phoenixes.  All  which  may  perhaps  be  vrcll,  or  i)erhaps  ill, 
for  us."  ^ 

power  and  beauty,  the  grace  and  inmginatioii,  which  adorn  the  works  which 
since  that  time  have  lu'cn  produced  by  this  great  artist.— August  1873. 
»  Notes,  1859,  p.  20. 


/inn  ESSAYM    ON    ART. 

Now  it  came  into  our  liciul  wlicn  wo  read  this  oracular  pas- 
sa{,'fi,  tliat,  like  Mr  Sneer  in  the  '  Critic,'  we  had  "heard  some- 
thing like  it  before;"  and  after  slight  search  we  found  the 
great  archetype  of  all  Mr  liuskin's  elo(iuence  in  the  captain  of 
the  "  Cautious  Clara." 

"  My  name's  Jack  Bunsby  !  And  what  1  says  I  stands  to  ; 
whereby — why  not?  If  so,  what  odds?  can  any 'man  say 
otherwise  ?     No.    Awast,  then." 

Our  readers  see  that  Jack  Bunsby  was  no  less  infallilde 
tlian  John  Uuskin.  We  shall  soon  find  that  he  was  fully  as 
oracular : — 

"  Do  I  believe  that  this  here  son  and  heir's  gone  down, 
my  lads?  Mayhap.  Do  I  say  so?  Which?  If  a  .skipi»('r 
stands  out  by  Sin'  George's  Channel,  makin'  for  the  Downs, 
what's  right  ahead  of  him  ?  The  Goodwins.  lie  isn't  forced 
to  run  upon  the  Goodwins,  but  he  may.  The  bearings  of  this 
observation  lays  in  the  application  on  it.  That  an't  no  part  of 
my  duty.  Awast,  then.  Keep  a  bright  look-out  for'ard,  and 
good-luck  to  you." 

Mystery  and  unintelligibility  have  in  all  ages  imposed  upon 
the  gullibility  of  the  world,  and  we  have  no  doubt  that  there 
are  many  whose  confidence  in  !Mr  Euskin  will  rival  that  of 
Captain  Cuttle  in  Jack  Bunsby,  and  who  wall  continue  to 
think  that,  however  he  "  got  his  opinions,"  "  there  an't  nothing 
like  'em  afloat  or  ashore." 


437 


II. 

A  DAY  AT  ANTWERP — RUBENS  AND  RUSKIN.^ 

It  was  on  a  mellow  evening  towards  the  close  of  last  September 
that  I  entered  Antwerp  for  the  second  time,  after  the  lapse  of 
many  yearsT  There  is  always  a  feeling  of  sadness  attendant 
upon  revisiting  a  place  which  has  been  the  scene  of  much  past 
enjoyment,  and  I  was  in  no  humour  for  jingling  into  the  vener- 
able city  with  half-a-dozen  other  passengers  in  a  railway  omni- 
bus.- I  preferred  strolling  quietly  over  the  old  drawbridges 
which  span  the  ditches  of  those  memorable  fortifications,  whose 
green  banks  were  reflected  with  marvellous  precision  in  their 
sluggish  waters.  There  was  some  fete  in  the  outskirts  of  tlie 
town,  to  which  meny  groups  of  gaily-dressed  women  and  chil- 
dren were  hastening.  The  old  familiar  carillon  rung  gaily  out 
from  the  cathedral,  the  netM'ork  of  whose  pinnacles  stood 
bathed  in  light  against  the  evening  sky.  I  turned  to  the  right 
out  of  the  Place  du  Mier,  crossed  the  site  of  the  ruined  Bourse, 
and  soon  found  myself  on  the  Place  Veile  (which  autunui  was 
already  beginning  to  strew  with  "  lyart  leaves  "),  innnediatdy 
opposite  the  cathedral.  It  may  seem  paradoxical,  yet  I  believe 
it  is  true,  that  one  charm  of  the  most  glorious  monuments  of 
Gothic  art  consists  in  their  incom])k't<.'n('SS.  That  truncated 
tower,  patched  with  rude  brick-work  amidst  its  rich  ami  gor- 
geous ornament,  appeals  more  powerfully  to  our  sympathies 
than  its  finished  and  perfect  neighbour.  It  tells  of  asjiimtions 
unfulfilled,  of  the  schemes  of  ambition  crumbling  into  dust,  of 
the  struggle,  the  defeat,  and  tlie  disapi)ointm«'ut  which  arc 
incident  to  humanity.     But  it  is  not  my  intention  to  monUise; 

'  Blackwood's  Magaziiu",  Stptcnilxr  ISCl. 


438  ESSAYS    ON    ART. 

1  seek  only  to  cull  iij)  |)l('a,s<'iiit  iiiuinorie.s  of  tlic  past  in  my 
own  mind,  and  to  awaken  similar  recollections  in  those  who 
have  shared  like  pleasures  in  bygone  years.  The  old  cities  of 
Belgium,  with  their  historic  associations,  their  gorgeous  archi- 
tecture, and  their  rich  treasures  of  art,  are  enchanted  ground. 
The  wealth  of  Bruges  has  departed.  Her  streets  are  deserted, 
and  her  quays  are  desolate.  But  the  gratitude  of  a  crippled 
soldier  has  endowed  her  with  riches  that  pass  not  away  with 
the  vicissitudes  of  fickle  commerce,  and  the  name  of  Memling 
survives,  whilst  those  of  her  merchant  princes  are  forgotten. 
Mechlin  and  Ghent  are  rich  in  priceless  treasures  ;  but  queen 
over  all  is  Antwerp.  The  carillon  has  again  rung  out.  The 
shadow  is  deepening  over  the  grave  of  Quentin  Matsys,  and 
there,  close  beside  it,  stands  his  most  fitting  monument — that 
iron  canopy  over  the  well  by  the  grand  portail  of  the  cathedral, 
which  has  been  a  crown  of  glory  to  him  for  four  centuries. 
How  simple  the  design  !  how  exquisite  the  workmanship  ! 
Four  slender  columns,  meeting  in  a  Gothic  arch  of  beautiful 
proportion,  support  the  figure  of  a  pigmy  warrior,  who  hurls 
down  his  gage  of  defiance,  alike  against  the  tyranny  of  Philip 
and  the  cruelty  of  Alva — the  insensate  rage  of  the  iconoclasts 
who  profaned  the  fair  temple  of  God,  which  he  seems  to  guard, 
and  the  fouler  bigotry  which  defaced  His  image  in  the  fairer 
temple  which  He  had  Himself  created.  Eound  the  pillars, 
branches  of  holly,  green  and  immortal  through  ages  of  misery 
and  bloodshed,  intertwine  themselves  in  fantastic  ^vreaths, 
graceful  as  that  "  pleached  bower "  in  which  Beatrice  hid  to 
listen  to  her  cousin  Hero  ;  and  their  young  and  vigorous  shoots 
point  upwards,  appealing  to  Heaven  from  the  oppression  of 
man.  Such  is  the  legend  worked  by  the  prophetic  hand  of 
Quentin  Matsys,  a  quarter  of  a  centuiy  before  the  Emperor 
Charles  V.  was  born  ;  and  there  it  stands  to  this  hour,  clear 
and  sharp  as  on  the  day  when  he  hammered  out  the  iron  on 
his  anvil. 

In  this  countiy  Quentin  Matsys  is  little  known,  except  by 
his  picture  of  "  The  Misers  "  in  the  royal  collection  at  Windsor, 
and  the  legend,  always  told  to  visitors,  that  he  was  a  black- 
smith, who  was  inspired  by  his  love  for  a  painter's  daughter 


A    DAY    AT    ANTWERP — RUBENS    AND    RUSKIN.       439 

to  become  an  artist.  To  call  Matsys  a  "  blacksmith  "  is  just 
as  inappropriate  as  it  would  be  to  call  Flaxmau  a  stone-mason. 
He  was  a  poet  who  gave  the  exquisite  creations  of  his  fancy 
to  the  world  in  iron,  as  Peter  Vischer  did  in  bronze,  and  Cellini 
in  silver.  That  love  made  him  a  painter  is  a  legend  we  would 
not  willingly  lose,  and  its  truth  is  confirmed  by  the  inscription 
on  his  tomb,  "  Connubialis  amor  de  mulcibre  fecit  Apellem  ; " 
but  that  he  was  an  artist  of  a  high  order  lung  before  he  ever 
handled  a  brush,  is  proved  by  this  most  beautiful  work.  After 
Rubens,  his  name  is  greatest  amongst  the  artists  of  Antwerp. 
But  Eubens  has  filled  Antwerp  so  full  of  his  glory  that  one  is 
hardly  conscious  of  any  presence  but  his.  It  is  here  only  that 
he  can  be  seen.  To  judge  of  Eubens  by  his  pictures  in  the 
Louvre,  is  like  judging  Shakespeare  by  "  Julius  Caesar  "  and 
"  All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,"  without  having  read  "  Hamlet " 
and  "  As  you  Like  it."  I  confess  that  the  pictures  in  tlie  cathe- 
dral, "  The  Descent  from  the  Cross  "  and  "  The  Elevation  of 
the  Cross,"  do  not  impress  me  so  much  as  some  of  those  which 
are  now  deposited  in  the  Museum.  This  may  very  probably 
arise  from  a  defect  in  my  own  capacity  for  appreciation.  In 
examining  the  works  of  most  painters,  we  can  sit  down  and 
quietly  analyse  our  own  feelings  ;  we  can  ask  ourselves  whence 
arises  the  pleasure  which  we  experience  ;  we  can  select  beau- 
ties for  admiration,  and  defects  for  criticism;  but  before  a 
great  work  of  Eubens  we  are  carried  away  by  the  torrent 
of  his  genius ;  we  feel  our  own  nothingness  in  the  presence 
of  a  power  mighty  as  the  ocean,  solemn  as  the  mountain 
solitude,  terrible  as  the  storm.  Bind  the  wave — bow  down 
the  moimtain  —  note  in  musical  division  the  voice  of  the 
thunder- cloud,  and  then  you  may  be  fit  to  criticise  the 
works  of  Eubens. 

A  school  of  art  has,  within  tlie  last  few  years,  arisen  amongst 
us,  whose  principles  are  diametrically  opposed  to  those  of 
Rubens,  which  holds  that  the  duty  of  tlie  painter  is  to  repre- 
sent with  the  utmost  attainable  historical  accuracy  tlie  event 
which  he  depicts  ;  that  all  deviations  into  the  realm  of  imagi- 
nation are  wrong,  not  merely  artistically,  but  morally;  that 
the  picture  should  approach  as  nearly  as  possible  to  the  fidelity 


440  KSSAYS    ON    ART. 

of  tho  plioio^'rapli  ;  lliut  the  archetyjio  of  Um;  ])iiiiit('r  is  not 
tlui  jHx't,  l»ut  ilu!  slioit-liiuid  writer.  That  this  is  no  exa^'g«;i- 
ation  will  at  once  be  apparent  to  any  one  who  will  he  at  the 
pains  to  refer  to  Mr  Kuskin's  observations  upon  the  cartoons 
of  Rajdiael,  to  ^Fr  Millais's  picture  of  "The  Carpcnitcr's  Shop," 
and  Mr  llohnan  Hunt's  of  "  Christ  Disputing  with  the  Doctors 
in  the  Temple."  At  the  opposite  pole  may  be  placed  "  The 
Adoration  of  the  Magi,"  by  Rubens,  in  the  first  room  as  you 
enter  the  Museum  at  Antwerp.  When  the  Saviour  of  the 
world  "  took  upon  Himself  to  deliver  man,"  He  entered  upon 
His  earthly  career  in  a  home  of  the  humblest  poverty,  and  He 
terminated  it  by  an  ignominious  death,  reserved  for  the  vilest 
and  most  odious  malefactors.  All  divines  agree  that  these 
events  were  necessarily  part  of  the  great  scheme  of  redemption. 
They  have  naturally  become  familiar  subjects  for  the  painter. 
With  regard  to  the  first,  the  information  vouchsafed  to  us  is 
confined  to  a  few  verses  in  two  of  the  Gospels.^  We  know 
that  a  humble  handicraftsman,  journeying  with  his  wife, 
sought  shelter  in  her  utmost  need  in  a  crowded  inn — that  it 
was  denied — that  they  took  refuge  in  a  stable — and  there, 
without  human  aid,  with  no  other  accommodation  than  that 
provided  for  beasts  of  burden  or  draught,  a  child  was  born, 
and  laid  by  its  exhausted  mother  in  the  manger  of  the  cattle. 
Here  our  information  ends.  It  would  probably  be  difficult  to 
find  any  pre-Eaphaelite  daring  enough  to  act  up  to  his  own 
principles  in  the  representation  of  this  scene,  with  all  its  acces- 
sories. If  he  did,  he  would  produce  a  picture  which  might 
possibly  be  hung  up  in  the  board-room  of  a  lying-in  hospital 
to  move  the  feelings  of  the  charitable,  but  which  few  would 
recognise  as  the  nativity  of  our  Lord,  and  those  who  did,  if  a 
particle  of  religious  feeling  remained  in  their  minds,  would 
turn  away  from  with  loathing  and  disgust. 

Now,  how^  has  Rubens  dealt  with  this  subject  ? — To  regard 
his  '*  Adoration  of  the  ^Magi"  as  the  representation  of  anything 
that  ever  did,  or  ever  could  take  place,  would  be  simply  absurd. 
Assuming  that  the  wise  men's  offering,  recorded  in  the  second 
chapter  of  the  Gospel  of  St  Matthew,  was  the  fulfilment  of  the 
^  Matt.  ii.  1  ;  Luke  ii.  4-7. 


A   DAY    AT    ANTWERP — RUBENS    AND    RUSKIN.       4-il 

prophecy  contained  in  the  72d  Psalm,  a  question  \vhich  must 
be  left  to  scholars  and  theologians,  linbens  has  set  at  defiance 
the  chronology  of  Scripture.  The  "  kings  of  Tarshish  and  of 
the  isles,  of  Sheba  and  Seba,"  did  not  commence  their  journey 
until  the  appearance  of  the  star  in  the  east,  which  announced 
that  the  birth  of  our  Lord  had  taken  place.^  They  journeyed 
to  Judea  ;  they  sought  and  obtained  an  interview  with  Herod: 
time  must  have  been  consumed  in  making  inquiries.  All  these 
facts  are  distinctly  recorded  in  Holy  Writ.  It  is  therefore  clear 
that  a  considerable  period  must  have  elapsed  before  they  could 
find  themselves  in  the  presence  of  our  Lord  and  His  virgin 
motlier.  The  language  of  St  Matthew  negatives  the  supposi- 
tion that  this  interview  took  place  in  the  stable.  "  When 
they  were  come  into  the  house,  they  saw  the  young  child  with 
ISIary  his  mother,  and  fell  down  and  worshipped  him :  and 
when  they  had  opened  their  treasures,  they  presented  unto 
him  gifts ;  gold,  and  frankincense,  and  myrrh."  ^  Yet  Eubens 
places  the  scene  in  the  stable,  and  introduces  the  head  of  an 
ox  into  the  corner  of  the  picture.  He  is  right  in  doing  so, 
though  in  violation  of  historic  accuracy.  The  humility,  the 
peacefulness  of  Christianity,  the  lowly  origin  which  the 
Saviour  of  the  world  had  selected  for  Himself,  all  the  circum- 
stances that  appeal  to  the  gentlest  feelings  of  humanity,  are 
thus  called  up  by  the  genius  of  the  painter ;  whilst  the  gor- 
geous apparel  of  the  aged  monarch,  who  offers  gold  and  frank- 
incense— tlie  stately  presence  and  lingering  doubts  which  still 
lurk  in  the  countenance  of  the  dusky  Abyssinian  prince — the 
deep  devotion  of  the  younger  king,  who  waves  a  censer  as  he 
prostrates  himself  before  the  cliild,  wliich  lies  in  tlie  lap  of  its 
mother,  all  tlie  ponip  and  circumstance  which  attend  upon 
them, — shadow  forth  the  march  of  the  religion  of  the  lowly 
Jesus  over  thrones  and  palaces,  over  powers  and  principalities, 
till  from  the  corniptions  of  Rome  and  the  cruelties  of  Spain 
a  second  birth  almost  as  lowly  took  place,  and  kings  might 
again  bow  their  heads  before  the  humble  Christianity  of  the 
crowded  city  and  lonely  glen.  This  is  the  story,  as  told  by 
Rubens  the  poet.     Gazing  upon  his  canvas,  we  lose  all  con- 

1  Matt.  ii.  2.  »  Matt.  ii.  11. 


442  EHSAYS    ON    AJt'l'. 

sciousness  of  the  marvellous  skill  of  the  painter  in  our  admira- 
tion of  the  still  liit^'her  g(!nius  which  claims  kindred  with  that 
•which  glows  upon  the  page  of  Milton  and  of  Dante. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  good  old  Scotch  word  "  mak- 
kar  "  has  become  obsolete.  "  Poet "  has  lost  the  signification 
wliich  properly  belongs  to  it.  It  is  no  longer  the  maker,  the 
creator,  unless  the  creation  is  in  verse.  A  poet  may  be  any- 
thing from  Dryden  to  Edgar  Poe.  A  painter  may  paint  any- 
thing from  the  "  Transfiguration  "  to  the  "  Scape-Goat."  "We 
want  some  word  which  shall  designate  the  quality  of  mind 
which  creates  a  world  of  its  own,  be  those  creations  in  words 
or  in  colours,  in  marble  or  in  metal — the  link  which  unites 
Burns  with  Eembrandt,  Dante  with  ^Michael  Angelo,  Cellini 
with  Quentin  Matsys,  and  all  with  each  throughout  the  great 
brotherhood  of  genius.  Of  this  power  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  overestimate  the  share  which  Kubens  possessed.  Turn 
from  the  picture  we  have  just  been  contemplating,  and  look  at 
the  one  which  hangs  immediately  opposite — the  last  act  of  the 
same  sacred  drama — a  picture  too  awful  to  criticise,  almost  too 
terrible  to  gaze  upon.  Yet  there,  in  the  midst  of  that  scene  of 
horror,  Rubens,  with  true  poetic  feeling,  has  introduced  the 
loveliest  of  female  heads — the  Magdalen  kissing  the  feet  of 
Christ, — love  and  beauty  mingling  with  agony  and  death — 
Cordelia  w-eeping  over  Lear. 

There  is,  however,  in  one  respect  a  marked  distinction  be- 
tween the  nature  of  the  genius  of  Eubens  and  that  of  the  great 
men  with  whom  we  have  been  comparing  him.  He  has,  as  far 
as  I  know,  given  no  indication  of  the  possession  of,  or  indeed 
of  any  relish  for,  wit  or  humour.  His  world  was  a  world  of 
grandeur,  awe,  terror,  beauty,  and  love.  His  was  a  grave  and 
stately  nature,  more  akin  to  Milton  than  to  Shakespeare  or 
Dante.  Look  at  his  "  St  Teresa  interceding  for  Souls  in  Pur- 
gatory," and  after  gazing  on  the  terrors  of  the  souls  "  con- 
demned to  fast  in  fires,"  observe  the  cool  green  landscape,  the 
hill  and  valley,  and  silver  waters  reminding  one  of  the  love- 
liest reaches  of  the  Thames,  where  Collins  sung  his  requiem  to 
the  shade  of  Thomson,  and  then  say  if  the  mind  of  Rubens  was 


A    DAY    AT   ANTWERP — EUBENS    AND    IIUSKIN.      443 

not  akin  to  that  which  produced  "Comus"  and  "11  Pense- 
roso,"  as  well  as  "  Paradise  Lost." 

There  is  stateliness  and  grandeur  in  every  step  of  the  genius 
of  Rubens ;  his  landscapes  are  rich  with  wood  and  water,  and 
palaces  glowing  in  golden  sunshine;  his  horses  might  have 
been  yoked  to  the  chariot  of  Apollo;  his  lions  and  his  eagles 
are  the  very  forms  that  Jove  himself  might  liave  assumed ;  his 
children  are  young  demi-gods;  his  women  are  as  nearly  divine 
as  they  can  be  without  ceasing  to  be  human,  though  gentlemen 
of  delicate  constitution  and  pre-Eaphaelitic  taste  for  scragginess 
may  call  them  coarse. 

■  Mr  Ptuskin  has  devoted  a  chapter  of  his  last  volume  to  give 
to  the  world  his  mature  views  upon  llubens,  and  one  or  two 
other  men  whom  most  people  have  been  in  the  habit  of  con- 
sidering painters  of  some  note.  He  begins  by  a  discussion  of 
the  Peformation,  and  its  effects  upon  the  religious  aspect  of 
the  world.  The  Reformation,  he  tells  us,  was  a  failure.  Pro- 
testantism is  but  "  a  half-built  religion,  daubed  with  untem- 
pered  mortar."  "  Palsied  Catholicism  "  is  but  a  "  falling  ruin 
of  outworn  religion,  lizard-crannied  and  ivy-grown."  The 
"  mind  of  modern  Europe  is  faithless  and  materialised."  Reli- 
gion in  England  is  "polite  formalism;"  in  Germany,  "ration- 
alism;" in  France,  "careless  blasphemy;"  in  Italy,  "help- 
less sensuality."  What  this  universal  damnation  of  everybody 
and  everything  has  to  do  with  Rubens,  it  may  be  difficult  to 
say;  but  Mr  Ruskin  informs  us  that  "the  whole  body  of 
painters  (Rubens,  of  course,  amongst  them)  fell  into  a  rational- 
istic chasm"  whatever  that  may  mean.  They  had  "  no  belief 
in  spiritual  existence,  no  interest  or  affections  beyond  the 
grave."  This  is  puzzling  enough;  but  to  make  it  still  more 
obscure,  Mr  Ruskin  appends  a  note  upon  belief  and  knowledge, 
in  which  he  upsets  all  preconceived  notions  as  to  both.  j\[ost 
people  entertain  some  respect  for  old  proverbs,  and  the  excep- 
tional "wisdom  of  the  child  that  knows  its  own  father"  has 
certainly  become  proverbial.  i\lr  Ruskin  denies  the  truth  of 
this  venerable  saying  altogether — nay  more,  he  expresses  his 
surprise  that  it  should  ever  have  obtained  credence;  he  says — 


444  ESSAYS    ON    AKT. 

"  It  never  seems  to  strike  any  of  our  rcli*,nous  toacliers,  tliat  if 
a  cliild  lias  a  father  livinrj,  it  eitlicr  hnmvs  it  has  a  father,  or  it 
does  not:  it  does  not  'believe '  it  has  a  father.  We  should  l)e 
surprised  to  see  an  intelligent  cliild  standing  at  its  garden- 
gate,  crying  out  to  passers-by,  *  I  believe  in  my  father  because 
he  built  this  house,'  as  logical  people  proclaim  that  they  be- 
lieve in  God  because  He  must  have  made  the  world."  ^  Now 
we  should  be  both  surprised  and  sorry  to  see  any  intelligent 
child  annoying  the  passers-by  in  the  way  suggested,  and  it 
ought  certainly  to  be  taught  Ijetter  manners  by  its  supposed 
father.  But  if  the  child  cried  out  to  the  passers-by,  "  Here  is 
a  house  which  must  have  been  built  by  somebody,  and  there- 
fore I  believe  in  the  existence  of  a  bricklayer,"  he  might  be  a 
disagreeable  little  prig,  but  he  would  be  a  not  inapt  disciple 
of  Paley.  Mr  Ruskin  appears  not  to  see  that  the  building  of 
the  house  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  paternity  of  the  child, 
whilst  an  intelligent  First  Cause  may  be  as  logically  infeiTed 
from  the  creation  of  the  universe,  as  the  existence  of  a  brick- 
layer from  the  building  of  the  house.  This  is  certainly  rather 
strange  reasoning  in  a  graduate  of  Oxford.  If  a  child  were  to 
assert  very  positively,  "  Mr  Euskin  is  my  papa — I  himo  that 
Mr  liuskin  is  my  papa,"  we  might  take  him  on  our  knee  and 
say,  "  My  dear,  how  do  you  know  that  Mr  Euskin  is  your 
papa  ? "  And  if  the  little  urchin  replied,  "  I  know  Mr  Euskin 
is  my  papa,  because  he  is  very  kind  to  me,  and  gives  me  food, 
and  clothes,  and  great  big  books  full  of  very  pretty  pictures, 
which  I  like  very  much,  and  I  try  to  read  them  because  he 
tells  me  I  ought,  but  I  can't  understand  them,  and  don't  be- 
lieve I  ever  shall," — we  might  pat  his  head  and  say,  "  My  dear 
little  boy,  what  you  say  is  a  very  good  reason  for  hclicving  that 
IVIr  Euskin  is  your  papa,  but  you  cannot  hiov  that  he  is ;  and 
when  you  are  a  little  older  we  will  read  what  ^Mr  Euskin  says 
about '  knowledge,'  and  about  '  belief,'  and  about '  Trt'cTTts  '  and 
'TreWofxai'  and  'TnaTevcoJ  and  about  'fides'  and  '  fio,' and 
'  confido '  and  '  credo,'  and  we  will  try  and  understand  it ;  and 
perhaps  we  shall  find  that  Mr  Euskin's  '  fides'  has  nothing  to 

1  Vol.  V.  255,  note. 


A    DAY    AT   ANTWERP — RUBENS    AND    RUSKIN.      445 

do  with  either '  fio '  or  '  coiifido,'  but  is '  closely  connected  '  with 
a  'fiddlestick.'" 

Mr  Euskiu  has  put  some  of  his  choicest  morsels  into  his 
notes.  There  is  one  "  very  precious  "  at  page  325.  He  tells 
us,  as  a  final  conclusion  from  all  that  he  has  written  before, 
that  "  colours  generally,  but  chic  fly  tJce  scarlet,  used  with  the 
hyssop  in  the  Levitical  law,  is  the  great  sanctifying  clement 
of  visible  beauty,  inseparably  connected  with  purity  and  life." 
Now,  if  this  means  that  ]>aron  Rotlischild,  in  a  scarlet  coat, 
riding  after  his  stag-hounds,  is  a  more  beautiful  object,  and 
engaged  in  a  pursuit  more  conducive  to  purity  and  life  than 
the  same  Baron  Rothschild  in  a  black  coat,  negotiating  a  loan, 
or  canvassing  the  "  down-shore  freemen  "  of  the  city  of  Lon- 
don, I  quite  agree  with  Mr  Euskin.  But  is  a  colonel  of  the 
Life  Guards  holier  than  a  colonel  of  the  Blues  ?  Is  a  man 
with  red  hair  better  than  a  man  with  black  ?  Are  red  noses 
"  sanctifying  elements  of  visible  beauty,  inseparably  connected 
with  purity  and  life  "  ?  and,  above  all,  is  the  Scarlet  Lady  a 
type  of  purity  ?  The  attempt  to  connect  moral  excellence 
with  external  colour  is  like  determining  how  far  it  is  from 
London  Bridge  to  Ladyday,  or  resolving  the  relationship  be- 
tween a  bulldog  and  a  window-shutter.  But  Mr  liuskin  dives 
into  still  deeper  mysteries  :  he  tells  us  that  colour  is  less  im- 
portant than  form,  because  on  form  depends  existence — on 
colour  only  purity.  "  Under  the  Levitical  law  neither  scarlet 
nor  hyssop  could  purify  the  deformed :  so,  under  the  natural 
law,  there  must  be  rightly-shaped  members  first,  then  sanctify- 
ing colour  and  fire  within."  Now,  what  does  this  mean  ?  Is 
it  a  mystical  allusion  to  the  uniform  of  the  red  Zouaves,  or  the 
stockings  of  the  cardinals  in  St  I'eter's  ?  INIr  Ifuskin  then 
branches  off  into  a  discussion  on  Love  (!),  of  which  he  says 
colour  is  the  type,  in  "  all  its  modes  of  operation,"  whether 
"  true,"  "  faithful,"  "well  fi.xed,"  "sexual,"  "shallow,"  "f:iilh- 
less,"  "misdirected,"  "corrupting," "degrading,"  "base,"  "lofty," 
"rash,"  "coarse,"  "untrue,"  "reverend,"  "  irreverend,"  "in- 
tense," "  dark,"  "  sensual,"  "  .statuesque,"  or  "  grave,"  into  which 
he  plunges  in  di'fiance  of  Mrs  Grundy,  and  forgetfulness  of  the 
Consistory  Court.     Into  this  labyrinth,  however,  I  dare  not 


446  ESSAYS    ON    ART. 

follow  him,  but  must  go  back  to  the  love  oi'  Rubens,  which 
Wii.s  ii  love  lor  his  own  wife,  or  coiiju;^'.'il  love — oddly  enough, 
the  only  kind  of  love  not  specifically  named  in  Mr  Ruskin's 
catalogue.  It  is  not,  however,  altogether  neglected;  for  lie 
steps  out  of  his  way  to  express  i)eculiar  contempt  for  a  mani- 
festation of  that  passion  in  Rembrandt. 

"  Rembrandt,"  he  says,  "  has  also  painted  (it  is,  on  the  whole, 
his  greatest  picture,  so  far  as  I  have  seen)  himself  and  his  wife 
in  a  state  of  ideal  happiness.  He  sits  at  supper  with  his  wife 
on  his  knees,  flourishing  a  glass  of  champagne,  with  a  roast 
peacock  on  the  table  !"^  Now  I  devoutly  trust  that  the 
happiness  of  the  glorious  Dutchman  was  not  ideal,  but  real. 
It  is  a  noble  picture.  The  broad,  jolly,  honest  face  of  the 
miller's  son  turns  round,  and  as  he  raises  his  glass,  full,  not  of 
frothy  champagne,  but  of  the  generous  juice  of  the  rich  vine- 
yards of  his  own  Rhine,  one  might  fancy  him  to  carol  forth 
the  jocund  song  of  a  kindred  spirit — 

"  I've  a  wife  o'  my  ain, 
I'll  gae  shares  wi'  naebody  ; " 

whilst  his  proud  happy  wife  (no  dainty  shy  damsel)  seems  to 
say,  "  This  the  man  who  shall  make  me  and  himself  inmiortal. 
He  is  my  own  husband ;  I  love  him  dearly,  and  am  not 
ashamed  of  it."  "  This  picture,"  says  Mr  Ruskin,  with  a 
sneer,  "  not  inaptly  represents  the  Faith  and  Hope  of  the 
seventeenth  century."  Not  a  bad  Faith  or  Hope  either.  Faith 
in  love,  and  Hope  in  immortality. 

A  still  more  glorious  picture  is  that  in  which  Rubens  has 
immortalised  the  purest  and  noblest  of  the  domestic  affections, 
and  which  Mr  Ruskin  selects  for  especial  reprobation  and  con- 
tempt. It  stands  the  most  fitting  memorial  over  his  own  tomb 
in  the  Church  of  St  Jacques.  The  principal  figure  is  the  wife 
of  his  youth,  Isabel  Brandt,  in  the  full  glow  of  her  majestic 
beauty — 

"  Love  in  iwW  length,  and  life,  not  love  ideal, 
No,  nor  ideal  beautj',  that  fine  name, 
But  something  better  still,  so  veiy  real. 
That  the  sweet  model  must  have  been  the  same." 

*  Vol.  v.  258.     The  picture  is  in  the  gallery  at  Dresden. 


A    DAY    AT   ANTWERP— RUBENS    AND    RUSKIN.      447 

Dark-haired,  dark-eyed,  radiant  with  wifely  and  motherly 
affection — the  harvest  of  love,  in  all  its  golden  rijjeness.  ll\i- 
bens  painted  this  picture  when  he  was  considerably  above  fifty 
years  of  age,  and  long  after  the  death  of  Isabel  Brandt,  but 
time  had  not  dimmed  the  glow  of  his  early  passion.  To  her, 
first  in  his  heart,  he  gives  the  first  place  in  immortality.  Close 
beside  her  stands  Helena  Fourmeut,  the  girl-wife  of  his  declin- 
ing age.  There  is  no  mean  jealousy  in  that  gentle  breast.  Her 
soft  eyes  seem  to  turn  fondly  from  her  own  child  towards  her 
who  had  gathered  the  first  full  vintage  of  lier  husband's  love. 
She  it  was  who  placed  this  picture  over  his  grave.  Behind 
tliem  is  Eubens  himself,  in  full  armour,  waving  the  banner  of 
St  George.  How  proudly,  how  grandly  he  speaks  the  con- 
sciousness of  power !  Furl  thy  triumphant  banner,  great, 
glorious  Peter  Paul  Eubens ;  thy  victory  is  won.  Put  off  thy 
gorgeous  armour ;  thy  battle  is  over.  Lay  that  noble  head 
down  in  the  dust  by  the  wife  of  thy  youth  ;  thy  immortality 
is  secured.  Pilgrims  shall  come  and  bow  at  thy  shrine,  fitting 
worshippers.  From  the  banks  of  the  Tamar  shall  come  one 
whose  soul  was  instinct  with  grace  and  beauty.  From  beside 
a  river  sluggish  as  the  Scheldt — from  beneath  the  shadow  of  a 
cathedral  magnificent  as  thy  own,  shall  come  one  on  whose 
sickly  frame  and  heavy  brow  genius  had  shed  a  ray  whose 
brightness  is  not  dimmed  even  beside  thine.  Nor  shall  anotlier 
pilgrim  be  wanting.  Where  Eeynolds  and  Etty  bowed  in 
reverend  worship,  Euskin  shall  stand  and  scoff ! 

I  had  been  looking  for  some  time  at  "  The  Communion  of 
St  Francis,"  in  the  IMusee,  when,  as  I  turned  away,  I  observed 
a  young  man  engaged  in  copying  Valentino's  "  Le  Brelan." 
There  was  something  peculiar  about  him  which  attracted  my 
attention,  and  when  I  came  nearer  I  discovered  that  he  was 
painting,  not  with  his  hands,  but  with  his  feet.  A  short 
cloak  or  cape  hung  over  his  shoulders  and  concealed  his  want 
of  arms  ;  he  held  his  brush  between  the  first  and  second  toes 
of  his  riglit  foot ;  his  palette,  maul  -  stick,  and  a  sheaf  of 
spare  brushes,  were  held  not  ungracefully  in  tlic  h'l't,  and  he 
worked  rapidly,  easily,  and  well.  "When  the  clock  struck 
twelve  and  announced  the  liour  at  which  the  pictures  in  the 


448  ESSAYS    ON    AltT. 

catliedral  arc  open  for  exhibition,  he  laid  down  Ijis  brush, 
cleaned  his  palette,  packed  up  his  colours  and  brunlies  (all 
with  his  feet),  and  then  put  on  his  shoes  and  walked  out  of 
the  Museum.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards  1  found  him 
again  seated  in  the  cathedral  busily  engaged  on  a  copy  of 
"  The  Descent  from  the  Cross."  One  of  the  stones  of  the  floor 
under  his  stool  had  slightly  sunk,  making  his  seat  unsteady, 
and  as  he  was  obliged  to  balance  himself  without  any  assist- 
ance from  his  feet,  which  were  engaged  upon  his  picture,  tin's 
of  course  required  immediate  remedy,  lie  took  out  his  hand- 
kerchief, folded  it  into  a  little  compact  bundle,  and  tucked  it 
under  the  leg  of  his  stool,  and  then  resumed  his  work.  An 
accidental  circumstance  now  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  enter- 
in*^  into  conversation  with  him :  his  manner  was  easy  and 
gentlemanly,  and  his  remarks  those  of  a  cultivated  and  intelli- 
gent man.  There  was  neither  embarrassment  from  any  con- 
sciousness of  his  misfortune,  nor  display  of  the  marvellous 
skill  which  enabled  him  to  overcome  it.  He  used  his  feet  in 
every  way  as  most  men  use  their  hands,  and  it  seemed  as 
natural  and  easy  to  him  to  do  so.  Yet,  what  struck  me  as 
very  remarkable,  though  painting  with  great  delicacy  and  skill, 
his  foot  looked  all  the  time  just  as  awkward  an  instrument  as 
one's  own.  After  some  conversation  he  offered  me  his  card, 
put  his  foot  in  his  pocket,  took  out  one  of  those  little  wal- 
lets which  everybody  now  carries,  slipped  the  elastic  band  off 
with  his  toe,  selected  a  card  from  several,  placed  it  on  the  back 
of  the  case,  put  his  foot  again  into  his  pocket,  took  out  a 
pencil,  and  in  a  far  better  hand  than  the  compositor  has  to 
decipher  before  this  article  can  go  to  press,  added  the  address, 
"  Anvers,  5^  Section,  126  Eue  des  Images,"  to  the  name  of 
"  Charles  Felu,  Artiste  Peintre."  So  completely  had  he  over- 
come all  appearance  of  awkwardness,  that  a  lady  whom  I 
happened  to  sit  next  to  at  the  table  d'hSte  told  me  that  she 
had  conversed  with  him  for  a  considerable  time  without 
discovering  that  his  legs  were  not  arms.  I  have  no  doubt  he 
shaves  himself,  for,  contrary  to  the  prevailing  custom  amongst 
artists, 

"  His  rhiii,  now  reaped, 
Showinl  like  a  stultMt'-fioltl  at  harvest-home  ;  " 


A    DAY    AT    ANTWERP — RUBENS    ANT)    RUSKTN.      440 

a  light  moustache  being  the  only  evidence  of  beard  that  was 
allowed  to  remain  on  an  intelligent,  pensive,  and  rather  hand- 
some face. 

My  day  at  Antwerp  ended  in  the  comfortable  hutclric  of 
St  Antoine,  to  whose  courtyard  I  was  welcomed  by  the  gam- 
bols of  three  little  white  Spitz  dogs  who  might  have  known 
that  their  grandmamma,  little  iNIadame  lUanche,  used  to  coax 
me,  years  ago,  out  of  the  greater  portion  of  the  sugar  which 
was  destined  for  my  cafe  noir,  and  who  were  quite  ready  to 
pay  me  the  same  disinterested  attention  themselves.  As  I  sat 
in  the  old  courtyard  and  watched  the  smoke  of  my  cigar  curl- 
ing up  amongst  the  leaves  of  the  orange-trees,  I  determined 
to  ask  the  readers  of  Maga  to  sympathise  with  the  pleasure  I 
had  enjoyed  during  my  day  in  Antwerp. 


2  F 


450 


III. 

GEORGE     CRUIKSHANK.^ 

When  Pepys  recorded  in  cipher  the  daily  events  of  his  life, 
he  was  iinconscious  that  his  private  diary  would  one  day  be 
esteemed  by  far  the  most  valuable  part  of  his  bequestto  Mag- 
dalen College  ;  that  we  should  owe  to  it  the  truest  and  most 
vivid  picture  we  possess  of  the  times  of  the  two  last  monarchs 
of  the  Stuart  dynasty.  In  like  manner,  James  Gilray,  George 
Cruikshank,  and  John  Doyle,  as  they  recorded  pas^g  events 
on  the  copperplate,  the  wood-block,  or  the  lithographic  stone, 
were  little  aware  that  they  were  accumulating  treasures  for 
posterity,  the  value  of  which  can  hardly  be  estimated  until 
some  future  Macaulay  shall  spread  his  canvas  before  the  eyes 
of  our  grandchildren,  and  own  how  much,  not  only  of  the 
brilliancy,  but  of  the  truth,  of  his  glowing  word-picture,  is  due 
to  the  labours  of  these  three  men. 

What  would  be  our  delight  if,  in  some  unexplored  corner  of 
the  State-Paper  Office  or  the  British  ^luseum,  or  amongst  the 
hoards  of  some  private  antiquary,  we  were  to  come  upon  a 
packet  containing  contemporaneous  sketches  of  the  House  of 
Commons  when  Hollis  and  Valentine  held  the  Speaker  down 
in  his  chair  whilst  Elliot  read  his  remonstrance ;  when  Pym 
rose  to  impeach  Strafford ;  or  when  the  cry  of  "  Privilege  ! 
Privilege ! "  rang  its  fatal  warning  in  the  ear  of  Charles  ! 
What  would  we  give  for  such  a  record  of  the  living  aspect  of 
Vane  and  Hampden,  of  Strafford  and  Cromwell,  as  Gilray  has 
given  us  of  Sheridan  and  Bm-ke,  of  Pitt  and  Fox !       '" 

James  Gilray  was  the  father  of  English  political  caricature. 
Before  his  time,  it  is  true  that  political  prints  exisTed",  but 

1  Blackwood's  Magazine,  August  1S63. 


GEORGE   CRUIKSHANK.  451 

they  were  for  the  most  part  obscure  allegories,  like  Hogarth's 
"  Times,"  requiring  verbal  keys  in  their  own  day,  and  utferly 
nninteTlTgible  in  ours.  With  Gilray  a  new  era  commenced, 
during  which  he  has  presented  us,  in  an  uninterrupted  series, 
with  a  chronicle  of  political  events,  a  moving  panorama  of 
social  manners,  and  a  gallery  of  portraits  of  the  principal 
actors,  so  far  as  England  is  concerned,  in  the  great  events  of 
the  world.  The  political  series  of  his  caricatures  commences 
in  the  year  1782,  shortly  before  the  coalition  between  Fox  and 
Lord  North,  and  continues  until  1810.  It  comprises  not  less 
than  four  hundred  plates,^  giving  an  average  of  about  fourteen 
for  each  year. 

When,  it  is  remembered  that  this  period  commences  with 
the  recognition  of  the  independence  of  the  United  States  ;  that 
it  extends  over  the  whole  of  the  French  Eevolution  and  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  the  Empire ;  that  it  comprises  the  careei-s 
of  Pitt,  Fox,  Burke,  Sheridan,  Wyndham,  Erskine,  and  Lord 
Thurlow,  and  comBs  down  to  the  times  of  Castlereagh,  Can- 
ning, Lord  Grey,  and  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  and  that  the  aspect 
of  every  actor  who  played  any  conspicuous  part  during  that 
period  is  faithfully  preserved  "  in  his  habit  as  he  lived,"  his 
gesture  and  demeanour,  his  gait,  his  mode  of  sitting  and  walk- 
ing, his  action  in  speaking — all,  except  the  tone  of  his  voice, 
presented  to  us  as  if  we  gazed  through  a  glass  at  the  men  of 
former  times, — we  shall  feel  that  we  owe  no  small  debt  to  the 
memory  of  James  Gilray. 

Nor  is  this  all.  He  has  given  us  with  equal  fidelity  the 
portraits  of  those  actors  who  fill  up  the  scene,  who  sustain  the 
underplot  of  the  comedy  of  life,  but  have  only  a  secondaiy 
share,  if  any,  in  the  main  action  of  the  drama.  Nor  was  he 
simply  a  caricaturist.  That  ho  possessed  the  higher  qualities 
of  genius — imagination,  fancy,  and  considerable  tragic  jiower 
— is  abundantly  shown  by  many  of  his  larger  and  more  im- 
portant etchings;  whilst  a  small  figure  of  the  unhappy  Duchess 

1  The  republication,  a  few  years  ago,  contains  three  hnndreil  and  sixty-six  ; 
but  many  arc  omitted  from  this  collection,  owing,  no  doulit,  to  the  jdatcs  hav- 
ing been  destroyud,  or  the  engraving  rubbed  down  in  order  that  the  copiHir 

might  be  used  for  some  otlier  subject. 


4r)2  ESSAYS   ON    ART. 

of  Yi)rk,  pultlislicil  in  1702,  iiuder  tho  feigned  signature  of 
Charlotte  Zetliin,  gives  i)roof  that  lie  was  not  wanting  in  ten- 
derness or  grace. 

Of  those  who  appear  in  the  etchings  of  Gilray,  the  last  has 
passed  away  from  amongst  us  within  a  year  of  the  present  time. 
The  figure  of  an  old  man,  somewhat  below  the  middle  height, 
the  most  remarkahle  feature  in  whose  face  consisted  of  his 
dark  overhanging  eyebrows,  habited  in  a  loose  blue  coat  with 
metal  buttons,  grey  trousers,  white  stockings,  and  a  tliick  pair 
of  shoes,  walking  leisurely  along  I'all  Mall  or  St  James's 
Street,  was  familiar  to  many  of  our  readers.  The  Marquess  of 
Lansdowne  (then  Lord  Henry  Petty)  appears  for  the  first  time 
in  Gilray's  prints  in  the  year  1805  ;  and  it  is  not  difficult  to 
trace  a  resemblance  between  the  youthful  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer  of  more  than  half  a  century  ago,  and  the  Nestor  of 
the  Whigs,  who  survived  more  than  three  generations  of  poli- 
ticians. The  personal  history  of  Gilray  was  a  melancholy  one. 
In  1809  his  penciFshowed  no  want  of  vigour,  but lifs  intellect 
shortly  afterwards  gave  way  under  the  effect  of  intemperate 
habits.  The  last  of  his  works  was  "  A  Barber's  Shop  in  Assize 
Tinie/'  etched  from  a  drawing  by  Harry  Buubury  in  1811.  Tn 
four  years  more — years  of  misery  and  madness — he  slept  in 
the  churchyard  of  St  James's,  Piccadilly.  A  flat  stone  marks 
the  resting-place,  and  records  the  genius  of  "  IMr  James  Gilray, 
the  caricaturist,  who  departed  this  life  1st  June  1815,  aged  58 
years." 

At  the  time  of  the  death  of  Gilray,  George  Cruikshank  was 
a  young"  man  of  about  five -and -twenty  ytars  'of  age.  Sir 
Francis  Burdett  was  a  prominent  figure  in  many  of  Gilray's 
latest  caricatures  in  1809.  One  of  the  earliest  of  George 
Cruil^shank's  represents  the  arrest  of  the  Baronet  under  the 
warrant  of  the  Speaker  in  1810.  The  series  is  thus  taken  up 
without  the  omission  of  even  a  single  link. 

The  earlier  caricatures  of  George  Cruikshank  bear  strong 
marks  of  the  influence  exercised  by  the  genius  of  Gilray.  In 
some  it  is  even  difficult  to  distinguish  the  work  of  the  two 
masters,  and  here  and  there  a  head  or  figure  may  be  found  in 
the  works  of  the  latter,  of  which  almost  the  exact  prototype 


GEORGE    CUUIKSHANK.  453 

will  be  discovered  in  those  of  the  earlier  artist.  But  iu  that 
which  stamps  most  value  ou  the  works  of  Gilray,  Cruikshauk 
followed  with  a  less  vigorous  step.  A  glance  at  the  etcliings 
entitled  "  Preparing  John  Bull  fur  the  General  Congress,  1813 ;" 
"National  Frenzy,  or  John  Bull  and  his  Doctors;"  "State  of 
Politics  at  the  close  of  the  year  1815;"  and  "The  lloyal 
Shambles,  1816;"  and  a  comparison  with  the  well-known 
series  of  Gilray  comprising  the  events  connected  with  the 
French  Ilevolution,  will  show  what  we  mean. 

The  great  power  of  George  Cruikshank  lies  in  a  diflerent 
direction.  Tn  his  o\vn  department  he  is  as  far  superior  to 
Gilray  as  he  falls  short  of  him  in  the  walk  of  art  in  which  no 
man  before  or  since  has  ever  equalled  the  great  ^Master  of 
Political  Caricature.  In  another,  requiring  more  refined,  more 
subtle,  more  intellectual  qualities  of  mind,  George  Cruikshank 
stands  pre-eminent,  not  only  above  Gilray,  but,  witli  the  single 
exception  of  Hogarth,  above  all  other  artists.  He  is  the  most 
perfect  master  of  individual  expression  that  ever  handled  a 
pencil  or  an  etching-needle.  This  talent  is  equally  shown  in 
his  earliest  as  in  his  latest  works.  Of  the  former,  one  of  the 
finest  examples  is  the  first  cut  of  the  ""Queen's  Matrimonial 
Ladder,"  entitled,  "  Qualification."  The  attitude  was  probably 
suggested  by  Gilray's  plate  of  the  same  illustrious  personage,  as 
"A  Voluptuary  Suflfering  from  the  Horrors  of  Indigestion."  But 
here  the  superiority  of  Cruikshank  over  Gilray  in  this  particular 
quality  is  at  once  apparent.  Gilray's  is  a  finished  copperplate 
engraving,  Cruikshank's  a  slight  woodcut,  but  there  is  not  a  line 
that  docs  not  tell  its  story.  Down  to  the  very  tips  of  Tiis  fingers 
the  unhappy  debauchee  is  "  fuddled."  The  exact  stage  of  drun- 
kenness is  marked  and  noted  down  in  the  corners  of  the  mouth 
and  eyes,  and  the  impotent  elevation  of  the  eyebrow.  George 
Cruikshauk  was  a  severe  anatomist  of  the  vice  long  before'ahy 
idea  of  his  celebrated  "  Bottle  "  could  have  crossed  Tiis  miii<l.  In 
the  next  cut  "Declaration,"  the  indignant  expression  thrown 
by  one  or  two  lines  into  the  countenunce  of  the  old  King  is 
e(iually  fine,  equally  true,  and  c(jually  marvellous.  The  whole 
series  of  this  little  hrorJiin-c,  including  the  si/Jioix/tes  cm  "The 
Toy  "  (a  little  cardboard  ladder  which  accompanied  the  original 


454  ESSAYS    ON    AKT. 

]>u1)lic:ili()n,  and  wliicli  lias  become  extremely  scarce),  convince 
ns,  pcrliaps  more  than  any  other  work,  of  the  wonderful  vi^'our 
and  inventiveness  of  the  genius  of  George  Cruik.shank.  More 
than  forty  years  have  passed  since  the  appearance  of  these 
works ;  and  if  we  were  asked  who,  through  that  period,  has 
been  the  most  faithful  cln'onicler  of  the  ways,  customs,  and 
habits  of  the  middle  and  lower  classes  of  England,  we  should 
answer  without  hesitation,  George  Cruikshank.  In  his  i»ic- 
tures  of  society  there  is  no  depth  which  he  has  not  sounded. 
From  the  "murderer's  cell  to  the  pauper's  deatKbed  there  is  no 
phase  of  crime  and  misery  which  has  not  served  him  to  point 
a  moral.  But  his  sympathies  are  never  perverted,  or  his  sense 
of  right  and  wrong  dimmed,  by  the  atmosphere  in  which  he 
moves.  He  is  a  stern  though  kindly  moralist.  In  his  hands 
vice  is  vice — a  foe  with  wliom  no  terms  are  to  be  kept.  Yet, 
with  what  true  feeling,  what  consummate  skill,  does  he  dis- 
criminate the  shades  of  character,  the  ranks  and  degrees  of 
crime,  the  extent  and  limits  of  moral  corruption  !  In  none  of 
his  works  is  this  so  apparent  as  in  what  we  are  inclined  to 
rank  as  the  most  refined  and  complete  of  all — namely,  the 
illustrations  to  '  Oliver  Twist.'  Charles  Dickens  and  George 
Oruiksliaiik  worked  cordially  hand  in  hand  in  the  production 
of  this  admirable  work,  and  neither  will  grudge  to  the  other 
his  share  in  the  fame  which  has  justly  attended  their  joint 
labours.  The  characters  are  not  more  skilfully  developed,  as 
the  story  unfolds  itself,  by  the  pen  of  Dickens,  than  by  the 
pencil  of  his  colleague.  Every  time  we  turn  over  this  wonder- 
ful series,  we  are  more  and  more  impressed  with  the  genius 
that  created,  and  the  close  observation  of  human  nature  which 
developed,  the  characteristics  of  Oliver  through  every  varying 
phase  of  his  career,  from  the  memorable  day  when  he  "  asked 
for  more  ;  " — of  Sikes,  the  housebreaker  (compare  his  face  in 
the  frontispiece  of  the  first  volume,  where  he  has  just  brought 
Oliver  back  to  the  Jew,  with  that  at  p.  216  of  the  third 
volume,  where  he  is  attempting  to  destroy  his  dog);  of  Fagin 
— from  the  "  merry  old  gentleman "  frying  sausages,  to  the 
ghastly  picture  of  abject  terror  which  he  presents  in  the  con- 
demned cell ;  of  Noah  Claypole — mark  him  as  he  lies  cower- 


GEORGE   CKUIKSHANK.  455 

ing  under  the  dresser  in  Mr  Sowerberry's  kitchen,  M'itli  little 
Oliver  standing  triumphant  over  him  with  flashing  eye  and 
dUated  nostril,  and  again  behold  him  lolling  in  the  arm-chair 
whilst  Charlotte  feeds  his  gluttonous  appetite  with  oysters ;  of 
Charlotte  herself,  of  Mrs  Corney,  of  the  workhouse  master,  the 
paupers,  the  boy-thieves,  jMessrs  Blathers  and  Dufl'  the  police- 
ofificers,  and  the  immortal  Mr  Bumble — a  character  which  has 
furnished  new  terms  to  our  vocabulary,  and  the  glory  of  pro- 
ducing which  may  be  fairly  divided  between  the  author  and 
the  artist.  Nor  is  the  portraiture  of  jSIrs  Bedwin  the  house- 
keeper, who  only  appears  once,  but  by  that  single  appearance 
makes  us  familiar  with  her  whole  history  and  character,  less 
admirably  conceived  and  executed.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
Mr  Brownlow  and  Mr  Losborne.  Nor  is  this  perfection  the 
result  of  a  hicky  hit  or  happy  accident,  by  which  a  far  inferior 
artist  may  sometimes  succeed  in  producing  what  is  acknow- 
ledged by  the  eye  as  the  impersonation  of  the  impression  pro- 
duced on  the  mind  by  the  art  of  the  novelist  or  the  poet.  It 
is  the  result  of  deep  study  and  profound  sympathy  with  all 
the  varied  action  of  the  human  heart.  It  is  genius,  the  twin- 
brother  of  that  which  inspired  Garrick  and  Kean,  and  which, 
in  its  rarest  and  most  refined  developments,  brings  before  our 
eyes  even  now  new  beauties  latent  in  the  characters  of  Hamlet 
and  of  Rosalind.  "We  say  this  in  no  spirit  of  exaggeration, 
but  with  a  profound  conviction  that  no  hand  coidd  have  pro- 
duced such  works  as  those  of  George  Cruikshank,  which  was 
not  the  index  and  the  organ  of  a  heart  deeply  imbued  with 
the  finest  sympathies  of  humanity,  and  an  intellect  highly 
endowed  with  power  of  the  keenest  perception  and  the  subtlest 
analysis. 

In  the  contemporary  society  which  he  portrays,  Cruikshank 
seldom  wanders  higher  than  the  middle  rank ;  and,  like 
Dickens,  he  is  most  successful  within  the  limit  to  which  he 
seems  voluntarily  to  have  restricted  himself  ^Ir  Brownlow 
is  one  of  Nature's  nobles,  but  he  lives  at  Pentonvillo,  and 
would  be  out  of  his  element  in  Grosvenor  Square,  or  even  in 
Pindico  or  Tyburnia.  Every  raniification  of  society  lu-neath 
this  rank  has  been  accurately  observed  and  traced  out  by  the 


450  ESSAYS    ON    ART. 

l)encil  of  George  Cruiksliank  ;  from  the  gaiTct  to  the  cellar, 
there  in  not  an  inhabitant  with  whom  he  has  not  made  us 
familiar.     The  boarding-house,  the  school,  the  tea-garden,  the 
chop-house,  the  police-office,  the  coach-stand,  the  market,  the 
workhouse,   and  the   prison  —  every   scene,   in  short,  where 
human  life  is  telling  its  strange  and  varied  tale — calls  forth 
his  sympathies,  and  affords  matter  for  his  genial  pencil     The 
mere  enumeration  of  the  works  which  he  has  drawn  from 
these  sources  would  fill  a  volume.     The  one  which,  in  recent 
times  has  excited  most  notice,  is  the  series  of  designs  called 
"  The  Bottle."     Many  artists  have  attempted  to  convey  a  moral 
truth"T5y" Means  of  a  story  told  in  pictures.     With  the  one 
illustrious   exception   of    Hogarth,   all  have    failed   in   their 
object.     The  reason  is  obvious.     It  is  the  same  which  has 
been  fatal  to  the  success  of  religious  novels  and  moral  tales. 
The  conclusion  fails  to  impress  the  reader,  because  he  has 
always  present  to  his  mind  that  the  characters  and  the  inci- 
dents are  moidded  to  suit  the   object  of  the  writer.      Mrs 
Hannah  More  sought  to  convince  the  world  that  no  safety 
was  to  be  found  out  of  the  verge  of  the  Clapham  sect,  and  her 
novels  and  her  dramas  are  forgotten ;  IMr  TroUope's  eagerness 
to  make  the  virtues  of  High  Church  divines  prominent,  and 
the  foibles  of  the  Evangelical  clergy  conspicuous,  is  the  main 
defect  of  his  very  clever  novels.    Mr  Cruiksliank  has  embraced 
the  doctrines  of  teetotalism  with  the  zeal  natural  to  his  genius, 
and  is  devoting  all  his  energies  to  the  propagation  of  his 
favourite  tenets.     The  result  is  the  production  of  two  veiy 
remarkable  works — "  The  Bottle,"  and  its  sequel,  "  The  Drunk- 
ard's Children  " — each  consisting  of  a  series  of  eight  elcTiiugs. 
TheHrsT  plate  shows  a  comfortable  household.     A  young  man, 
whom  we  may  suppose  to  be  a  respectable  mechanic  of  the 
higher  class,  is  seated  at  table  with  every  comfort  around  him 
— clean,  tidy,  healthy  children,  an  active,  good-looking,  good- 
tempered  wife.     The  room  and  its  furniture  betoken  provident 
industrious  habits.     He  is  one  of  the  men  who  form  the  bone 
and  sinew  of  the  country.     His  past  life  can  be  looked  back 
upon  with  pride  and  satisfaction  ;  his  present  is  bright,  and 
liis  future  cheerful.     This  man  is  the  hero  of  the  story ;  and 


GEORGE   CllUlKSHANK.  457 

Mr  Cruiksliank  would  fain  persuade  us  tliat  such  a  man  goes 
post-haste  to  the  devil,  because  on  an  unlucky  day  he  drank  a 
glass  of  whisky.  If  we  could  believe  this,  we  shoidd  be  com- 
pelled to  give  up  the  axioms  of  morality  in  which  we  have 
confided  all  our  lives.  The  status  of  the  man  is  the  result  of 
a  formed  character,  of  long  habits  of  self-denial.  If  such  a 
character  is  to  be  destroyed,  and  such  habits  to  be  upset  so 
easily,  what  becomes  of  our  trust  in  our  fellow-men  ?  In  his 
eagerness  to  impress  the  moral  he  has  so  much  at  heart,  Mr 
Cruiksliank  has  overlooked  the  fact  that  he  is  striking  at  the 
root  of  other  virtues  as  important  as  those  he  would  inculcate. 
If  we  are  to  accept  his  view  of  human  nature,  we  must 
abandon  all  trust  in  the  axiom  that  a  character  once  fonned 
for  good  or  for  evil  is  not  upset  save  under  the  most  excep- 
tional circumstances — circumstances  so  exceptional  that  they 
cannot  fairly  enter  into  the  calculation  of  the  moralist.  If 
this  be  so,  training  and  education  are  of  no  avail ;  we  are  the 
mere  victims  of  chance ;  and  our  moral  constitutions  are  so 
feeble  that  they  wither  away  in  hopeless  consumption  on  the 
slightest  exposure  to  the  free  air  of  the  world.  Such  a  doc- 
trine is  fatal  to  all  self-reliance,  and  all  confidence  in  others — 
qualities  essential  to  manliness  and  virtue.  Having  entered 
this  protest  against  the  conception  and  tendency  of  the  work, 
we  may,  with  a  safe  conscience,  give  ourselves  up  to  the  feel- 
ings of  admiration  which  its  wonderful  execution  excites.  As 
in  '  Gulliver's  Travels '  and  Defoe's  novels,  when  the  mind  has 
once  accepted  a  state  of  facts  wholly  monstrous  and  repugnant 
to  all  experience,  the  details  are  worked  out  with  such  con- 
summate skill  that  it  is  impossible  to  refuse  our  assent  to 
their  truth.  In  this  way  tlie  kingdom  of  Lilliput  is  an  ac- 
cepted fact,  and  Moll  Flanders  and  her  numerous  husbands  are 
admitted  amongst  our  personal  acquaintances,  and  become  as 
real  as  people  we  meet  eveiy  day.  No  words  can  do  justice  to 
the  manner  in  which  the  etiect  of  drink  is  traced  upon  the 
features  of  the  man  through  the  various  steps  of  his  career. 
We  see  him  as  the  besotted  drunkard,  with  his  children  starv- 
ing around  him  ;  as  the  nmrderer  of  his  wife ;  and,  finally,  as 
the  hopeless  criminal  lunatic.     The  story  of  his  children  is 


458  KSSAYS    ON    A  III'. 

more  true  to  human  nature,  for  they  are  initiated  into  vice 
wliilst  younf;.  Tlie  hoy  dies  a  convict  in  the  liulks  ;  the  fprl 
tenninates  lier  life  on  the  streets  Ijy  tlirowing  herself  over 
the  parapet  of  London  Bridge.  This  concluding  plate  is  the 
culminating  point  of  the  tragedy,  and  few  works  have  ever 
exceeded  it  in  intensity  of  expression  and  terrihle  reality. 
It  is  the  same  story  that  Hood  has  told  in  his  "Bridge  of 
Sighs : " 

"  The  bleak  wind  of  March 
Made  her  tremble  and  shiver, 
But  not  the  dark  arch 
Or  the  black  flowing  river  ; 
Mad  from  life's  history, 
Glad  to  death's  mystery, 
Swift  to  be  hurled  — 
Anywhere,  anywhere 
Out  of  the  world." 

All  the  subordinate  characters — the  drunkard's  wife,  the 
wretched  children,  the  depraved  associates — are  delineated 
with  equal  skill ;  perhaps  the  finest  of  all  is  the  head  of  the 
keeper  of  the  "threepenny  lodging-house,"  who  lights  the 
policeman  into  the  room  in  which  they  find  the  boy-felon. 
The  stolid,  stupid,  half-drunk,  half-asleep,  no-expression  of  his 
face,  betokens  a  genius  surpassed  only  by  Hogarth  himself. 

Hitherto  we  have  been  considering  Cruikshank  as  a  deline- 
ator of  contemporaneous  character  and  manners.  But  it  would 
be  a  mistake  to  regard  his  genius  as  confined  within  these 
limits.  He  steps  witli  an  easy  stride  from  the  busy  thorough- 
fare or  the  crowded  court  into  the  realms  of  fairyland.  It 
seems  as  if  the  bonds  with  which  he  had  compressed  his  genius 
down  to  the  routine  of  daily  events  and  commonplace  charac- 
ters had  burst,  and  his  spirit  bounds  forth  with  irrepressible 
glee,  and  indulges  in  the  wildest  fancies,  the  most  grotesque 
vagaries,  and  the  most  riotous  mirth.  Cinderella  and  her  train 
glitter  before  our  eyes  in  fairy  gold  ;  the  bean-stalk  springs 
up  under  our  feet,  and  Jack  climbs  exulting  to  the  top  ; 
Jack  o'  Lantern  peeps  through  the  sedges,  and  laughs  at 
the  deluded  traveller ;  Hop-o'-my-Thumb  strides  along  in 
liis  seven-leagued  boots,  in  a  way  which  we  are  convinced 


GEORGE   CRUIKSHANK.  450 

not  only  that  he  might  have  done,  but  tliat  he  actually 
did;  the  mysterious  gentleman  doubles  up  Peter  Schleniihl's 
shadow,  and  packs  it  away  as  easily  as  we  fold  up  our  trousers 
and  deposit  them  in  a  portmanteau.  When  once  he  gives  the 
reins  to  his  imagination,  there  are  no  bounds  to  its  sportive- 
ness.  A  pair  of  bellows  would  not  appear  to  be  a  hopeful 
subject  for  the  display  of  fancy,  but,  in  the  hands  of  George 
Cruikshank,  it  inflates  itself  with  the  breath  of  life.  Its  valve 
becomes  a  heart,  and  its  nozzle  a  nostril ;  it  is  endowed  with 
liuman  passions  and  human  affections.  It  sings,  it  dances,  it 
falls  in  love.  It  does  everything  that  it  was  least  likely  that 
such  a  solemn  and  flatulent  piece  of  household  furniture  should 
do.  It  would  require  a  volume  merely  to  enumerate  the  titles 
of  the  works  which  at  various  times  George  Cruikshank  has 
produced.  The  catalogue,  in  the  most  comjoressed  form,  of 
what  is  merely  a  selection  from  his  works,  which  has  been 
exhibited  at  Exeter  Hall  during  the  present  summer,  extends 
over  twenty-two  closely  printed  octavo  pages.  This  collection 
contains  above  a  thousand  works  ;  and,  as  many  are  altogether 
omitted  from  it,  and  selections  only  given  from  others,  we  feel 
little  doubt  that  a  complete  collection  would  amount  to  at  least 
double  that  number.  It  is  in  vain  to  attempt  to  direct  the 
attention  of  the  reader  to  a  tithe  even  of  those  which  are  actu- 
ally on  the  walls  of  the  gallery.  The  '  Omnibus,'  the  '  Sketch- 
book,' the  '  Comic  Almanac,'  the  series  of  plates  connected 
with  the  Great  Exhibition  of  1851,  'Punch  and  Judy,'  the 
'  Life  of  Sir  John  Falstaff,'  '  Greenwich  Hospital ; '  and  hun- 
dreds more  rise  up  in  our  memory,  claiming  grateful  notice, 
which  the  want  of  space  compels  us  to  refuse. 

There  is  a  middle  ground  between  Fleet  Street  and  Fairy- 
hind,  in  which  George  Cruikshank  has  displayed  extraordinary 
skill.  The  historical  romances  and  Newgate  Calendar  n(»vels 
of  Harrison  Ainsworth  have  given  an  occasion  for  the  display 
of  his  genius  in  a  direction  as  distinct  from  the  everyday  scenes 
of  commonplace  life,  as  it  is  widely  separated  from  the  graceful 
fancies  of  our  own  nursery  stories,  or  the  grotesque  vagaries  of 
the  iinjis  and  genii  of  German  demonology.  The  illustrations 
of  '  Rookwood '  and  '  Jack  She])pard '  are  full  of  talent ;  a  few 


460  ESSAYS    ON    ART. 

of  the  jdatos  in  tlic  latter — "Jack  visiting  his  ^lolhcr  in  Bed- 
hini,"  "The  Il(jl)bcry  at  Dollis  Hill,"  and  "Tiic  Funeral  at Willes- 
den  Churchyard,"  for  example — possess  a  merit  approaching, 
though  not  equalling,  the  unrivalled  series  of  '  Oliver  Twist;' 
whilst  the  small  etchings  showing  the  various  steps  of  Jack's 
escape  from  Newgate,  and  his  procession  to  Tyburn,  are  marvels 
of  skill  for  minute  delicacy  of  execution,  and  for  the  vigour 
which  the  artist  has  contrived  to  compress  within  so  narrow  a 
space.  Of  the  illustrations  of  '  Guy  Fawkes/  '  The  Tower  of 
London,'  '  The  Miser's  Daughter,'  and  other  works  of  a  similar 
class,  it  is  impossible  to  speak  in  terms  of  too  high  commenda- 
tion. In  these  it  is  true  that  the  individual  character  and 
expression  which  delighted  us  in  other  works  that  we  have 
referred  to  are  less  vigorously  displayed  ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  have  the  most  vivid  realisation  and  picturesque  ren- 
dering of  the  scene.  All  the  aids  that  are  to  be  derived  from 
the  historical  accessories  of  place  and  costume  are  taken  ad- 
vantage of,  and  the  power  and  mystery  of  the  most  daring 
chiaroscuro  are  invoked  to  give  effect  to  the  representation. 
Let  any  one  who  doubts  the  power  of  George  Cruikshank  as  a 
painter  of  the  historical-picturesque,  study  carefully  "  Queen 
Jane  and  Lord  Guildford  Dudley  brought  back  prisoners  to 
the  Tower  through  Traitors'  Gate,"  and  he  will  renounce  his 
heresy. 

George  Crvdkshank  is  still  among  us.  The  same  hand 
whichjljefore  the  commencement  of  this  century,  had  twined 
its  infant  fingers  round  the  ebony  shaft  of  the  etching-needle, 
claiming  as  its  own,  with  the  sure  instinct  of  genius,  the  sceptre 
of  its  future  sway,  the  rod  which  was  to  bend  spirits  to  its 
command,  is  now  busily  plying  its  skill  to  reproduce  on  copper 
the  great  protest  wherein  its  owner  has  recorded  his  undjnng 
declaration  of  war  against  the  demon  "  Drink."  If  the  title  of 
a  man  to  the  gratitude  of  his  race,  to  rank  as  a  philanthropist 
and  a  benefactor,  depends  on  the  amount  of  happiness  and 
innocent  pleasure  which  he  has  bestowed  upon  others,  the 
name  of  George  Cruikshank  is  entitled  to  a  high  place  amongst 
the  worthies  of  the  nineteenth  century.     Of  the  millions  who, 


GEORGE   CRUIKSHANK.  4G1 

since  his  labours  began,  have  been  born  into  the  world,  fretted 
their  hour,  and  passed  away  ;  or  who,  like  the  writer  of  these 
pages,  still  remain  when  their  sun  has  far  passed  its  meridian 
— of  those  who,  day  by  day,  are  rising  into  manhood,  and  of 
the  numbers  greater  yet  who  will  arise  when  that  active  brain 
is  at  rest  and  that  busy  hand  is  still, — how  many  have  reason 
to  bless  the  name  of  George  Cruikshank  !  How  many  peals 
of  infant  laughter  must  ring  their  sweet  music  in  his  ears — 
how  many  beds  of  pain  and  sickness  has  he  cheered — how 
many  hearths  has  he  brightened !  Well  do  we  remember,  in 
the  days  of  our  own  boyhood,  how  one  gentle  spirit,  which  lias, 
long,  long  years  ago,  taken  its  flight  to  heaven,  would  linger 
with  delight  which  made  it  forgetful  of  pain  over  the  creations 
of  his  fancy,  and  trace,  with  hands  almost  transparent  in  their 
whiteness  and  their  slenderness,  the  frolics  of  the  elves  and 
imps  of  German  fairy  story.  Long  may  George  Cruikshank 
enjoy  the  well-earned  pride  of  looking  back  over  half  a  century 
gladdened  by  his  genius,  and  the  satisfaction  which  he  may 
honestly  feel  from  the  conviction,  tliat  no  thought  which  the 
sternest  moralist  could  condemn  has  ever  been  awakened  l)y 
his  pencil ! 

John  Doyle  (or,  to  adopt  his  more  familiar  nomrne  dc  guerre, 
H.  B.)  is  essentially  distinct  in  his  mode,  as  well  of  conception 
as  of  execution,  from  both  Gilray  and  Cruikshank.  lie  ran 
hardly  with  propriety  be  called  a  "  caricaturist."  The  Italian 
origin  of  that  word,  which  has  been  so  recently  introduced 
into  our  language  that  it  does  not  appear  either  in  Bailey  or 
Johnson,  implies — overloading,  exaggeration,  H.  B.'s  sketches 
are  not  exaggerated.  They  are  simply  faitliful  renderings  of 
the  men  with  whom  our  recollections  of  the  last  thirty  years 
have  made  us  familiar.  These  portraits  are  grouped  round 
some  familiar  event  of  the  day.  A  conversation  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  a  current  anecdote,  a  popular  hoii  mot,  is  repro- 
duced by  his  faithful  and  rapid  pencil  For  the  story  of  his 
sketches,  H.  B.  was  almost  invariably  indebted  to  some  source 
of  this  kind.  He  possessed  no  great  powere  of  invention  ;  his 
satire  was  always  playful  ;  he  had  but  little  sarcastic,  and  no 


462  ESSAYS    ON    AUT. 

tragic  i)0\ver ;  but  in  tlio  art  of  producing  a  likeness  he  has 
never  been  excelled,  and  wo  nmcli  doubt  if  he  has  ev(!r  be(''n 
equalled.  We  have  no  means  of  judging  of  the  fidelity  of  Gil- 
ray,  save  by  comparison  with  the  works  of  Reynolds,  Hoppner, 
Romney,  and  other  contemporary  portrait-painters  ;  and  tbese 
bear  high  testimony  to  his  truthfulness.  But  our  own  memory 
enables  us  to  bear  witness  to  the  marvellous  accuracy  of  almost 
every  portrait  that  H.  B.  has  impressed  on  the  lithographic 
stone.  His  sketches  commence  in  the  year  1829.  One  of  the 
earliest  represents  the  Ghost  of  Canning  startling  a  Cabinet 
Council  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington's  Administration,  in  the 
midst  of  their  consultation  on  the  Catholic  Relief  BilL  The 
latest  was  published  in  March  1851,  and  contains  a  portrait  of 
Lord  John  Russell  in  the  character  of  "  Hudibras  setting  out  on 
his  Crusade  against  Mummeries,"  with  the  celebrated  Durham 
letter  stuck  in  his  girdle.  This  sketch  is  numbered  917, 
which  gives  an  average  of  about  one  sketch  per  week  over  a 
period  of  twenty-two  years.  When  we  consider  that  during 
the  later  part  of  this  period  the  sketches  made  their  appear- 
ance at  long  intervals,  the  fecundity  during  the  earlier  years 
becomes  still  more  astonishing.  This  \vas  partly  owing,  no 
doubt,  to  the  medium  of  which  H.  B.  availed  himself.  The 
fatal  facility  of  the  lithographic  stone  gave  a  temptation  to 
hurried  and  careless  execution,  which  the  sterner  discipline  of 
the  copperplate  would  have  repressed.  H.  B.  would  have  been 
a  greater  artist  had  he  worked  on  the  same  material  and  with 
the  same  tools  as  Gilray  and  Cruikshank ;  but  we  should  pro- 
bably not  have  possessed  so  complete  a  gallery  of  portraits, 
comprising  all  the  men  of  note  who  took  part  in  political  affairs 
from  before  the  passing  of  the  Catholic  Relief  Bill  until  after 
the  repeal  of  the  Corn  Law  (a  period  more  eventful  than  any 
of  a  similar  length  since  the  Revolution  of  1688),  and  of  many 
whose  reputation  was  but  ephemeral.  To  criticise  the  works 
of  H.  B.  would  be  to  write  the  history  of  a  quarter  of  a  century. 
To  omit  any  notice  of  his  works  in  this  paper  would  have  been 
an  act  of  ingratitude  to  an  accomplished  artist  to  whom  every 
student  of  the  history  of  his  native  country  owes  a  debt  which 


GEORGE    CRUIKSHANK.  4G3 

he  will  gladly  acknowledge.  Nor  can  we  conclude  these  re- 
marks without  a  passing  word  to  one,  the  very  variety  and 
fertility  of  whose  genius  precludes  us  from  more  at  the  present 
time.  Some  future  day  we  promise  ourselves  the  pleasure  of 
spending  an  hour  mth  the  hearty  old  gentlemen,  the  gallant 
boys,  the  prodigious  "  swells,"  and,  above  all,  the  charming 
sisters,  cousins,  and  sweethearts  and  wives  to  whom  we  have 
been  introduced  by  John  Leech. 


4CA 


IV. 

JOHN 

The  year  which  has  just  passed  opened  sadly  \M'tli  the  death 
of  William  Makepeace  Thackeray ;  bef(;ie  it  closed,  John 
Leech  was  laid  by  the  side  of  his  schoolfellow,  his  friend,  and 
his  fellow-labourer.  There  was  hardly  a  household  in  the 
United  Kingdom  over  which  a  gloom  was  not  cast  by  the 
tidings  of  his  death — a  Christmas  hearth  round  which  he  was 
not  mourned,  or  whose  brightness  was  not  dimmed  by  his  loss. 
It  was  as  if  an  old  familiar  face  were  missed,  a  friendly  voice 
hushed.  The  kindliest  of  moralists,  the  gentlest  of  satirists, 
was  no  more  ;  but  the  spirit  that  had  so  lately  fled  seemed  still 
to  linger  round  the  Christmas-tree,  to  mingle  in  the  sports  it 
had  loved  so  well,  to  wreathe  itself  in  the  smiles  and  float  on 
the  sweet  laughter  of  childhood,  and  to  hover  lovingly  over 
the  scenes  it  had  so  often  rendered  immortal. 

All  that  the  world  has  a  right  to  ask  of  the  personal  history 
of  John  Leech  has  been  already  told.  That  he  was  originally 
destined  for  the  medical  profession  ;  that  in  obedience  to  the 
strong  promptings  of  genius  he  early  abandoned  it ;  that  his 
life  was  pure  and  noble  ;  that  he  was  beloved  by  friends,  and 
those  nearer  and  dearer  than  friends, — this  is  all  we  are  entitled 
to  know,  and  it  is  enough. 

As  has  been  the  case  with  almost  all  great  humorists,  there  was 
a  vein  of  melancholy  in  the  character  of  Leech.  "  Our  sweetest 
songs  are  those  that  tell  of  saddest  thought ;"  and  this  tone  of 
mind  seems  to  be  as  inseparable  from  genius  as  the  plaintive 
strains  are  from  that  music  "  which  wakes  our  tears  ere  smiles 
have  left  us." 

1  Blackwood's  M.igazinc,  April  1865. 


■JOHN    LEECH.  465 

The  lines  in  which  the  character  of  a  lamented  statesman 
has  been  so  vividly  drawn  in  these  pages  might  with  truth 
liave  been  applied  to  the  artist : — 

"  His  mirth,  though  genial,  came  by  fits  and  starts ; 
The  man  was  mournful  in  his  heart  of  hearts. 
Oft  would  he  sit  or  wander  forth  alone, 
Sad, — why  I  know  not, — was  it  ever  known  ? 
Tears  came  with  ease  to  those  ingenuous  eyes  ; 
A  verse,  if  noble,  bade  them  nobly  rise. 
Hear  him  discourse,  you'd  think  he  hardly  felt ; 
No  heart  more  facile  to  arouse  or  melt, — 
High  as  a  knight's  in  some  Castilian  lay. 
And  tender  as  a  sailor's  in  a  play." 

Silent,  gentle,  forbearing,  his  indignation  flashed  forth  in 
eloquence  when  roused  by  anything  mean  or  ungenerous. 
!Manly  in  all  his  thoughts,  tastes,  and  habits,  there  was  about 
him  an  almost  feminine  tenderness.  He  would  sit  by  the  bed- 
side and  smooth  the  piUow  of  a  sick  child  with  the  gentleness 
of  a  woman.  No  wonder  he  was  the  idol  of  those  around  him  ; 
but  it  is  the  happiness  of  such  a  life  that  there  is  so  little  to 
be  told  of  it. 

In  an  article  upon  the  Public  Schools  of  London,  which 
appeared  about  four  years  ago  in  the  pages  of  '  Once  a  Week,' 
the  following  passage  occurs  in  the  description  of  the  Charter- 
house : — 

"  We  strolled  out  into  the  green  again,  which  is  so  large  that 
one  portion  of  it  forms  an  excellent  cricket-ground.  It  is  sur- 
rounded by  high  walls,  and  is  overlooked  from  the  upper 
windows  of  the  houses  in  the  adjacent  streets.  J.  mentioned 
to  me  a  story  of  a  young  Carthusian's  motlier,  which  was,  I 
thought,  touching  enough.  She  had  sent  her  little  boy,  then 
a  mere  child,  to  this  huge  school.  It  had  cost  her  many  a 
pang  to  part  with  him  ;  but,  as  she  was  a  lady  of  good  sense 
as  well  as  of  gentle  heart,  slie  resolved  to  abstain  from  visiting 
him  at  his  boarding-house.  She  knew  it  ^^•as  right  that  he 
should  be  left  to  take  his  chance  with  the  others,  and  she  had 
sufficient  strength  of  mind  not  to  sacrifice  his  future  welfare 
to  the  indulgence  of  her  own  affection.  See  him,  however,  she 
would,  but  in  such  a  way  that  the  child  could  not  see  her. 
She  therefore  hired  a  room  in  one  of  the  houses  which  com- 

2  G 


466  ESSAYS    ON    AKT. 

mantled  a  view  of  the  Carthusian  playing-ground ;  and  here 
she  wouhl  sit  beliind  a  l^lind,  (hiy  after  day,  happy  and  con- 
tent so  that  she  could  get  a  glimpse  of  her  child.  Sometimes 
she  would  see  him  strolling  about  with  his  arm  round  the  neck 
of  one  of  his  little  companions,  as  the  way  of  schoolboys  is  ; 
sometimes  he  was  playing  and  jumping  about  with  childish 
glee  ;  but  still  the  mother  kept  her  watch.  You  may  see  the 
place  where  she  did  it.  Look  yonder,  that  upper  window,  just 
beside  the  goldbeater's  arm." 

The  boy  in  this  story  was  John  Leech.  How  much  of  the 
mingled  firmness  and  tenderness  of  his  character  may  he  have 
inherited  from  such  a  mother  ? 

His  success  came  early.  Tliere  is  no  tale  to  be  told  of  the 
struggles  and  heartburnings  of  unacknowledged  genius.  Be- 
fore he  was  five-and-twenty  years  of  age  he  was  celebrated, 
and  to  the  very  hour  of  his  death  his  popularity  steadily  and 
constantly  increased.  His  life  was  short  when  measured  by 
years;  but  if  we  take  the  truer  measure  of  sensation,  it  ex- 
tended far  beyond  the  ordinary  limit  of  humanity.  His  brain 
was  never  idle,  and  his  hand  rarely  at  rest.  The  amount  of 
intellectual  labour  he  must  have  gone  through  is  prodigious; 
and  it  is  wonderful  that  an  organ  so  finely  constituted,  an  in- 
strument so  delicately  tuned,  as  his  brain  must  have  been,  did 
not  give  way  sooner. 

This  delicate  power  of  perception,  tremblingly  alive  to  the 
finest  and  most  evanescent  characteristics  of  every  object  that 
presented  itself  to  his  notice,  is  perhaps  the  most  distinctive 
feature  of  the  genius  of  Leech.  No  truer  record  of  the  man- 
ners and  habits  of  society  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tuiy  can  be  conceived  than  that  which  is  found  in  the  produc- 
tions of  his  pencil.  His  po\vers  of  satire  were  rather  refined 
than  deep.  Had  he  worked  with  the  pen  instead  of  the  pencil, 
he  might  have  written  the  "  Prccieuses  Eidicules,"  or  the  "  Eape 
of  the  Lock;"  but  could  hardly  have  produced  the  "  Misan- 
thrope," or  the  "  Moral  Essays."  He  preferred  laugliing  at 
follies  to  lashing  vices.  The  pretensions  of  a  "  snob,"  or  the 
vulgarities  of  a  "  gent,"  were  the  favourite  objects  of  his  satire; 
like  Touchstone,  it  was  "  meat  and  drink  to  him  to  see  a  fool." 


JOHN    LEECH.  407 

Yet  the  kindliness  of  his  disposition  shows  itself  in  the  mode 
in  which  he  treats  even  his  victim.  One  of  the  most  popular 
and  successful  of  his  creations  is  "  Old  Briggs."  How  the 
character  grows  and  develops  under  his  hand  from  the  fortu- 
nate day  when  "  the  cook  says  she  thinks  there's  a  loose  slate 
on  the  roof,  and  ^Mr  Briggs  replies  that  the  sooner  it  is  set 
to  rights  the  better,  and  he  will  see  about  it,"  through  all  the 
various  phases  of  house-keeping  and  horse-keeping,  of  fox- 
hunting, fishing,  pheasant-shooting,  and  deer-stalking.  And 
here  we  may  observe  the  delicate  gradations  by  which  the 
artist  has  marked  the  progress  of  Mr  Briggs  in  his  sporting 
education.  On  his  first  introduction  he  is  essentially  a  town 
man.  He  has  probably  spent  his  life,  until  past  fifty  years  of 
age,  in  a  warehouse,  or  behind  a  desk  or  a  counter.  But  the 
strong  sporting  instinct  has  only  lain  dormant  within  him  till 
awakened  by  accident,  and,  when  once  aroused,  breaks  forth 
in  full  vigour.  Briggs  is  a  totally  different  character  from  the 
Cockney  sportsman  who  was  the  butt  of  Gilray  or  of  Seymour. 
It  is  impossible  not  to  feel  sympathy  and  respect  for  the  per- 
severance and  resolution  with  which  he  pursues  his  object,  or 
affection  for  the  good-humour  with  which  he  meets  repeated 
disappointment.  Wlio  can  help  rejoicing  heartily  with  him 
when  at  last  he  catches  that  marvellous  salmon  ? 

Little  Tom  Noddy  is  another  admirable  creation.  How  ex- 
quisitely ludicrous  is  the  whole  series  of  liis  sporting  adven- 
tures !  Yet  the  little  man  never  loses  his  hoki  on  our  affec- 
tions. Here,  too,  we  find  a  remarkable  proof  of  the  fertility  of 
genius  and  acute  observation  of  the  artist.  Briggs  and  Tom 
Noddy  pass  through  the  same  scenes,  but  the  ideas  are  always 
new,  and  each  character  is  stamped  with  its  own  distmctive 
idiosyncrasies.  They  are  as  different  from  each  other  as  Mas- 
ter Slender  is  from  Froth,  or  Touchstone  from  the  Fool  in  '  Lear.' 

As  a  political  caricaturist.  Leech  holds  a  position  midway 
between  Gilray  and  Cmikshank  on  the  one  hand,  and  H.  B. 
on  the  other.  His  satire  was  not  so  keen,  nor  was  his  pencil 
so  vigorous,  as  that  of  the  two  former  artists;  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  times  have  changed,  and  that  the  weapons 
with  which  Gilray  assailed  I'itt  and  Fox,  and  those  wliich 


4G8  ESSAYS   ON    AUT. 

Cruikshank  wieldcfl  against  Castlereagh  and  Sidmoiith,  would 
not  be  t'(iually  fitted  for  the  days  of  Peel  and  Lord  John  Kus- 
sull,  of  Lord  Palnierston  and  Mr  Disraeli. 

Leech  possessed  the  finest  eye  for  all  objects  of  natural 
beauty.  A  keen  sense  of  the  beautiful  distinguishes  him  from 
almost. all  other  caricaturists.  It  is  to  be  found  occasionally, 
though  rarely,  in  the  earlier  works  of  Gilray,  and  more  fre- 
quently in  those  of  Eowlandson,  but  disappears  almost  en- 
tirely from  the  later  productions  of  both.  In  Cruikshank  it 
finds  its  chief  manifestation  when  he  disports  himself  amongst 
the  creations  of  fairyland ;  and  it  is  well  worthy  of  remark, 
that,  unlike  his  predecessors,  this  sense  of  beauty  seems  to 
have  strengthened  instead  of  diminishing  as  time  has  mellowed 
the  genius  of  that  great  master.  Over  Leech  it  has  from  the 
first  exercised  an  abiding  influence,  and  there  is  hardly  a  pro- 
duction of  his  pencil  in  which  some  touch  does  not  appear 
to  bear  testimony  to  his  devotion.  His  power  of  expressing 
beauty  by  a  few  lines  strengthened  with  years,  but  with  in- 
creasing facility  of  hand  came  in  some  degree  the  defect  of 
mannerism.  One  type  of  beauty  took  possession  of  his  heart, 
and  he  too  often  contented  himself  with  reproducing  it.  Tliere 
are  other  artists  of  kindred  genius  to  whose  works  we  might 
refer  as  examples  of  a  similar  habit;  and  when  it  is  remem- 
bered how  rapid  and  unceasing  the  call  upon  his  creative 
power  was — that,  week  by  week,  for  a  period  of  twenty  years, 
he  produced  designs  which,  for  the  amount  of  thought  and 
invention  they  required,  were  equal  to  pictures — our  surprise 
will  be  at  the  variety  which  he  introduced  in  the  character  and 
expression  of  the  actors  in  the  scenes  of  liis  comedy.  Leech's 
type  of  beauty  is  thoroughly  English  and  domestic — the  gay, 
modest,  good-tempered  girl  who  is  the  sunbeam  on  her  father's 
hearth,  the  beloved  of  her  brothers  and  sisters,  the  adored  of 
her  cousins,  who  passes  by  natural  transitions  into  the  faith- 
ful wife  and  fond  mother,  who  bears  around  her  through  life 
a  halo  of  purity  and  innocence,  is  the  muse  that  inspires  his 
pencil.  This  purity  is  a  constant  characteristic  of  Leech's 
beauties.  Constance,  who  drives  her  private  hansom — Miss 
Selina  Hardman,  who  asks  poor  Robinson  to  "give  her  a  lead" 


JOHN    LEECH.  469 

over  a  five-barred  gate— Diana,  who  slips  off  at  an  ngly  fence, 
leaving  the  skirt  of  her  habit  on  the  pommel  of  her  saddle, — 
have  not  the  most  remote  affinity  to  the  objectionable  young 
ladies  of  the  present  day  who  ape  the  graces  of  Anonyma  as 
she  flaunts  in  the  park,  are  rather  proud  to  be  taken  for 
"  pretty  horse-breakers,"  and  expose  themselves  to  the  ridicule 
and  contempt  of  tlieir  partners  by  talking  of  persons  and 
places  of  the  mere  knowledge  of  whose  names  they  ought  to  be 
ashamed.  It  is  difficult  to  say  whether  the  hunting-field,  tlie 
park,  the  croquet-lawn,  the  ball-room,  or  the  sea-side  has  fur- 
nished the  richer  field  for  the  display  of  this  phase  of  the 
genius  of  Leech ;  but  we  are  disposed  to  think  that  all  these 
must  yield  to  his  indoor  scenes  of  domestic  life.  He  revels 
in  the  society  of  children.  Baby  is  a  constant  source  of  de- 
light to  him;  the  sports,  the  loves,  the  joys,  and  the  sorrows 
of  childhood  awaken  his  warmest  sympathy.  We  know  of 
nothing  more  perfect  than  some  of  his  representations  of 
children's  parties — with  what  kindly  satire  he  smiles  at  the 
affectation  of  the  little  premature  men  and  women;  and  when 
he  takes  them  out  to  dabble  on  the  sea-shore,  or  mounts  the 
boys  on  rough  ponies  and  starts  them  for  a  ride  over  the  downs, 
how  the  joyous  shout  and  laugh  ring  in  our  ears  ! 

There  was  in  Leech  all  the  material  of  a  gi-eat  landscape- 
painter.  If  we  were  to  select  one  artist  from  whose  works  we 
should  seek  to  give  a  foreigner  a  correct  idea  of  English 
scenery,  it  is  to  his  sketches  we  should  have  recourse.  His 
backgrounds  are  marvels  of  truth  and  expression.  The  south 
coast  of  England,  the  peaceful  valleys  of  tlie  Tliames,  the 
brawling  streams  of  Derbysliire,  tlie  broad  undulating  turf  of 
our  midland  counties,  the  brown  moors  of  Yorkshire,  the  High- 
lands of  Scotland,  and  the  strange,  wild,  weird  scenes  of  Gal- 
way  and  Mayo,  arc  all  rendered  with  equal  fidelity  by  his 
pencil,  and  each  takes  its  appropriate  place,  as  his  drama  shifts 
with  the  season  from  yachting  and  bathing  to  trout-fishing, 
deer-stalking,  shooting,  and  fox-hunting.  With  Leech  nothing 
was  conventional.  Every  accessory  that  he  introduced  showed 
his  perfect  knowledge  of  the  scene  he  portrayed. 

The  backgrounds  alone  of  the  "  Ih-iggs"  series  will  repay 


470  ESSAYS    ON    ART. 

l»ours  of  slndy  ;  and  wv.  liuvc  no  hesitation  in  expressing  our 
confident  oj)ini()n  tliat  in  future  years  tliese  slight  and  ap- 
parently subordinate  works  will  take  a  high  place  in  the 
estimation  of  those  who  make  landscape  art  their  study.  We 
know  no  better  advice  for  a  student  than  that  he  should  look 
at  nature  with  his  own  eyes,  and  then  study  carefully  how  she 
presented  herself  to  those  of  Leech.  His  memory  must  have 
been  extraordinary,  for,  from  the  conditions  under  which  he 
worked,  most  of  these  designs  must  have  been  produced  in  the 
studio  ;  but  the  slight  memoranda  in  his  pocket-books  show 
that  he  never  missed  an  opportunity  of  noting  down  even  the 
most  evanescent  aspects  of  nature,  the  curl  of  a  wave  or  the 
toss  of  the  branches  of  a  tree.  All  his  designs  are  full  of 
movement  and  action.  His  horses  especially  are  alive,  and 
almost  as  full  of  character  as  his  men.  Each  is  characteristic 
of  its  owner.  Briggs's  horse  is  as  distinct  from  Tom  Noddy's 
"playful  mare,"  as  their  respective  masters  are  from  each 
other.  His  studies  of  horses  began  early,  and  in  a  school 
which  was  probably  unique. 

Leech  was  a  boy  at  the  Charter-house  in  the  palmy  days  of 
coach-travelling.  In  those  days  the  north  mails,  after  leaving 
the  Post-Office,  passed  along  Goswell  Street,  close  by  the  wall 
which  bounds  the  playground  of  the  Carthusians.  It  was  a 
glorious  procession,  such  as  our  sons  will  never  see  and  can 
hardly  fancy.  How  the  light,  compact,  neatly  -  appointed 
vehicles  wound  their  rapid  way  along  the  crowded  street 
behind  their  well-bred,  high-conditioned  teams  !  how  gaily 
the  evening  sun  glittered  on  the  bright  harness  and  glossy 
coats  of  the  horses,  and  the  royal  uniform  of  the  men  !  how 
cheerily  the  "  yard  of  tin  "  rung  out  its  shrill  summons  !  Here 
and  there  a  fast  night-coach  as  well  horsed  and  appointed 
mingled  in  the  procession,  and  "All  the  blue  bonnets,"  or 
"  The  Swiss  boy  " — forgotten  melodies — were  carolled  forth  by 
that  obsolete  instrument  the  key-bugle.  Pleasant  are  the 
memories  of  "  the  road."  In  the  days  of  our  boyhood  the  box 
of  a  fast  coach  was  a  throne  of  delight.  The  young  Carthu- 
sians were  far  too  ingenious  to  permit  the  wall  of  their  play- 
ground to  shut  them  out  from  so  glorious  a  sight.     They  cut 


JOHN    LEECH.  47l 

notches  and  drove  spikes  in  the  trunks  of  a  row  of  trees  from 
the  higher  branches  of  which  they  could  obtain  a  view  into 
Goswell  Street,  and  there  they  rigged  up  a  kind  of  crows' 
nests  where  they  could  sit  at  ease  and  watch  coach  after  coach 
as  it  passed.  This  was  young  Leech's  study,  and  he  has  left 
a  charming  sketch  of  a  boy  sitting  in  such  a  "  coach-tree,"  as 
it  was  called,  with  an  expression  of  calm  and  thoughtful  de- 
light as  he  gazes  on  the  spectacle  below.  The  trees  are  gone, 
their  successors  are  just  beginning  to  show  their  leading  shoots 
above  the  wall,  but  no  future  generation  will  ever  climb  their 
branches  to  feast  their  eyes  on  such  a  sight  as  delighted  those 
of  Thackeray  and  Leech  in  their  boyhood. 

There  was  no  less  justice  than  generosity  in  the  remark  of 
Mr  Millais,  when,  in  his  evidence  before  the  Commission  on 
the  Eoyal  Academy,  he  mentioned  Leecli  as  a  striking  instance 
of  an  artist  worthy  of  the  highest  honours  which  the  Academy 
could  bestow,  but  who  was  excluded  by  the  narrow  rule  which 
restricts  those  honours  to  artists  who  work  in  one  peculiar 
medium.  Had  this  remark  proceeded  from  one  whose  opinion 
carried  less  authority,  it  might,  perhaps,  have  been  met  by  a 
sneer;  but,  coming  from  one  who  had  himself  acquired  the 
highest  of  those  honours,  who  had  been  trained  in  the  schools 
of  the  Academy,  and  who  had  at  a  singularly  early  age  been 
marked  out  for  the  success  he  subsequently  achieved,  it  com- 
manded respect  and  won  assent.  Any  one  may  understand 
and  relish  the  infinite  humour  and  truth  of  Leech,  but  only 
one  who  was  a  great  artist  himself  could  fully  know  how  great 
an  artist  he  was.  When  Opie  was  asked  what  lie  mixed  liis 
colom'S  with,  the  surly  Cornishinan  growled  out,  '^  Drains,  sir  !" 
When  a  lady  once  asked  Turner  what  was  lii>  si  (  ret,  he  re- 
plied, "  I  have  no  secret,  madam,  but  hard  work."  Tlic  fer- 
tility of  the  soil  was  apparent  to  every  one,  but  the  laborious 
husbandry  which  enabled  it  to  yield  so  rich  a  crop  was  known 
to  but  few.  The  lal)Our  was  no  doubt  rendered  more  severe 
by  the  want  of  professional  education.  The  early  training 
which  makes  the  hand  the  prompt  and  obedient  slave  of  the 
brain,  and  which  enabled  Gihay  to  draw  at  once  on  the  copper, 
was  wanting  to  Leech,  and  he  supplied  its  place  by  the  closest 


472  ESSAYS    ON    ART, 

and  most  accuralu  sUuly.  Nut  only  did  Ik;  nolo  down  in 
small  sketch-books  each  ohjcct  as  it  was  presented  to  liis  eye, 
but  he  made  careful  pencil-drawings  of  every  one  of  his  de- 
signs before  he  transferred  them  to  the  copper  or  the  wood- 
block. These  drawings  have  most  fortunately  been  carefully 
preserved  ;  and  we  would  strongly  impress  upon  the  Trustees 
of  the  British  Museum,  or  some  other  public  body,  the  inijjort- 
ance  of  securing  for  the  nation,  at  any  rate,  the  political  series. 
It  is  hardly  possible  to  overrate  their  importance  and  value  to 
the  historian,  the  antiquary,  or  the  artist.  There  is  not  one 
that  does  not  illustrate  some  historical  event,  or  that  does  not 
contain  the  living  portrait  of  some  man  of  note.  If  once  dis- 
persed they  can  never  be  reunited.  We  give  thousands  for  a 
doubtful  antique  or  a  mutilated  bronze.  Surely  we  shall  not 
permit  such  a  record  of  contemporary  history  as  these  drawings 
afford  to  be  broken  up  into  fragments  and  distributed  amongst 
the  portfolios  of  private  amateur  collectors,  its  utility  destroyed, 
and  its  beauty  concealed  for  ever. 

The  world  is  a  hard  task-master  to  those  who  cater  for  its 
amusement.  Moliere  died  on  the  stage  with  the  words  of  one 
of  his  own  immortal  comedies  on  his  lips.  The  pencil  fell 
from  the  hand  of  Leech  upon  an  unfinished  wood-block  which 
he  was  preparing  for  Punch's  Almanac.  The  same  continuous 
labour,  the  same  tax  on  the  brain  which  stilled  the  tongue 
of  "  Mellifluous  Follett,"  was  fatal  to  him.  Eest  might  have 
saved  him,  but  for  him  there  was  no  rest.  The  weekly  call 
must  be  answered,  be  it  at  what  cost  it  may.  "The  ordinary 
symptoms  of  an  overtaxed  brain  began  to  show  themselves, 
his  nervousness  and  sensibility  became  extreme,  and  that 
generous  heart  which  had  only  felt  too  warmly,  and  prompted 
too  open  a  hand  for  the  relief  of  others,  gave  one  agonising 
throb,  and  then  ceased  to  beat  for  ever. 


PRINTED  BY   WILLIAM   BLACKWOOD  AND   SONS,    EDINBURGH. 


